


Trustworthy

by 6wingdragon



Series: The Neverwere Moments [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Mystery, Narcotics, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-10-18 05:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 155,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17574371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6wingdragon/pseuds/6wingdragon
Summary: Let's take a look at what happens a year after the "Pred-Scare", when a familiar fox and recognizable rabbit take some time out of their busy lives to stop and smell the flowers.  Can a bunny truly trust a fox?  Can a fox truly accept that trust in return? Hear the words unspoken, listen to the tales untold; these are the moments that never were.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 'Allo 'allo, chums.
> 
> This was my first foray into the world of writing, started back in August 2016 when the movie inspired me to write about an all-animal world that actually took the food chain into consideration (while still maintaining the perception that it is a mirror of our human world). The title itself was only meant as a cute fanfiction concept but has turned into this story's identifier (even if I might reuse it as a... an anthology of sorts for future projects). I posted NwM on FF.net initially (because it was available and known to me at the time) so if you want to read ahead, you are welcome to. However, I've done some reformatting, rewriting, and re-conceptualizing in this first part of the story, so I invite you to join me in its restart.
> 
> This is not a WildeHopps story BUT that just means they are not _romantically_ involved, focusing instead on a relationship of mutual trust, respect, and something akin to "whetstone and knife" or "hammer and anvil". That said, enjoy~!

"Whatcha looking at, Carrots?" asked Nick in that casual, implicating tone of his, peeking over Judy's shoulder as she hurried to hide her phone from view.

"N-nothing!" she yelped, a blush radiated off her ears.

"I didn't know they made farm boy pin-ups," teased the fox, leaning on her cubicle entrance.

She scowled at him but relinquished with an exasperated sigh.  "He's not a 'pin-up', he's my  _ boyfriend _ , and his name is 'Bo'," she corrected, and the bright red blush which filled her ears softened to a pinkish hue as she beamed, turning the phone face-up to gaze at his picture again.

Nick's ears and eyebrows perked at the mention of a "boyfriend", as he'd known Judy for a while but neither heard nor inferred anything of the sort,  _ Sly bunny... _ pondered the fox.  He tilted his head to see a very farm boy rabbit packed with farm boy muscle and drenched in farm boy sweat, holding up an especially large carrot in a selfie-shot.

"He pulled that out all by himself?" Nick asked with feigned interest, "But while I do enjoy teasing you at every opportunity, that's not why I'm here.  My community service for tax evasion -- thank you for that, by the way -- ends tomorrow and I'm free this Saturday, which is a first for me. Now that I have a stable job and can afford weekends, I figured I'd let loose and do something  _ really _ off the wall,” and then grinned a winning grin, “Care to join me?"

"Oh… I'm so sorry, Nick," she said, turning about in her chair, "I'm visiting my parents this weekend.  I'd invite you to come with but I can't imagine visiting a  _ carrot farm  _ would be very 'off the wall'."

" _ Au contraire _ , I can't think of anything more so," remarked the fox, slinking up to her chair to guide its rotation further with but the tip of his finger, "I've been in Zootopia all my life and could use a bit of clean, farm air; and, of course, fresh blueberries."

Judy's ears sprung with a cheery smile, "That's great!" she said, head turning about to again look at her partner but then calmed after an important realization, her foot stopping the chair to face him, "Except, there's kind of a big thing in Bunnyburrow this weekend, so it'll be  _ really _ crowded."

"Bunnyburrow,  _ crowded _ ?" said Nick with exaggerated shock, "Next you'll be telling me that Tundratown is  _ cold _ or the Rainforest District is  _ wet _ ."

" _ Har har _ , Slick," she said with a wry smirk, "If you can find a hotel room, you're welcome to come along.  I'll let my parents know, so they can prepare the relatives for a… visitor."

"Why, are bunnies still wary of foxes, even after all this acceptance and unity in Zootopia?"

"Yeah…" she admitted, shrugging and rolling her eyes, "the news hadn't yet reached some rabbits that foxes are okay to befriend.  I guess years of prejudice won't go away so quickly."

"Nothing I don't already deal with," he said, waving his paw absently with an endearing smile, "I still get sidelong glances when out during the day, after all; at least in Bunnyburrow those glances will be only waist-high."

"Not  _ all _ of them," said Judy with a curiously knowing smile.

"Of course," replied Nick, "there are sheep and horses and whatever manner of mammals too stifled in the big city, but again, nothing I can't handle."

"Whatever you say," said the rabbit, that smile remaining as she pivoted to her computer, before half-turning back to address Nick, "Oh!  Before I forget, Chief Bogo needs the write-up about that Howler Den case on his desk  _ yesterday _ , so if you want your free weekend I suggest you finish that."

"I'll get right on it, Officer Toot-toot," Nick said with a salute and a smirk, earning a dismissive air-shove from the rabbit.   _ 'Howlers' _ , thought Nick, walking down the cubicle-formed hallway to his own desk,  _ Wolves still get miffed about that, but I don't blame them.  Bellwether's drug-labs fled further into the underbelly of the city after they locked her up, and while there hasn't been a savage-attack since then, these new drug dens are popping up everywhere. _

He swung his chair around and spun into it, scooting up to his computer to unlock it and pull up the aforementioned report.   _ Lessee... _  he began, or rather continued, his write-up,  _ "Casualties: None", "Injuries:"...  Does a stubbed toe count? ... "Injuries: Negligible", "Arrests:"... _  This is where he got stuck last time, but he sighed and trudged through it.   _ "Arrests: 6", one for peddling Night Howler pollen at exorbitant prices, and five for selling their shirts to get the next high. _  He looked over the file of that night, flipping through some of the most pathetic looking mammals he'd ever seen in his life; a high bar to reach.   _ Who would've thought that Night Howler pollen, of all things, causes trippy hallucinations and catatonic states? Might explain the psychosis, though... _  thought Nick, printing his report to top off the file on his desk.  With a stretch of his arms and legs he free-twirled in his chair, grunting at a job well done; eventually, his chair slowed to face away from his computer and at Chief Bogo.

"Wilde!" barked the chief, straightening the fox in his seat by voice alone, "Frolic on your own time."

"Yes sir," stated the fox promptly, snapping to attention in his seat, "I'll be more careful and relax only  _ behind _ your back, sir."

"Shut it!" he warned, leaning forward with a furrowed brow, but then relaxing in his stance with an elbow slung over the cubicle wall, "But that's not why I'm here.  I came by to let you know that your last day of community service was nixed; for good behavior."

"Why, Chief, that's awfully generous of you," remarked Nick, genuinely surprised by the stroke of luck, "Another day of selflessness and the fox community would've banished me."

"I know a good cop when I see one," said Chief Bogo, and then noticing the report on the fox's desk with an expectant arch of his eyebrows.  Following the police chief's gaze, Nick picked up the folder and leaned in with an extended arm, the Cape buffalo lazily watching him before accepting it.  Wordless, Bogo stood back and skimmed -- unbothered to even put on his reading glasses -- closed the folder, and then walked off without sparing another minute of attention for Officer Wilde.

Freed from scrutiny, Nick returned to his computer screen to look busy, unsure what to do with all of his newfound free time.   _ Maybe I'll sleep in for the first time in years _ , he considered,  _ Or clean my disaster area of an apartment.  Now that I'm an upstanding citizen, I should start acting like one. _  It took all his self-control not to burst into laughter at such a gem of an idea.   _ Maybe I'll check in on Finnick, see what he's up to… _  Despite his outward coolness, a sigh huffed out his nostrils, knowing  _ exactly _ who he needed to visit…

 

* * *

****

Later that day, out on the streets and in his plain clothes (today's ensemble a bright orange tropical shirt with a black tie and faded blue jeans) Nick met with Judy, she in a navy blue tank top and white capris.  "Carrots, I was wondering when you'd show up," he said, "I thought rabbits were supposed to be  _ fast _ ?"

"Nick, Nick Nick," she mused, "this is Zootopia, where 'anyone can be anything'.  If I want to take my merry time leaving the precinct, then I have the right -- no, the  _ duty _ \-- to do so."

"And here I thought you got lost or stepped on.  I was worried."

"Aww, I didn't know you cared, Slick," she pined dramatically.

"Oh, of course; I care about no rabbit more than you," he said, pinching his index and thumb together, "It's only by about that much, which may not seem a lot but it is, for a fox."

"So, I heard you got tomorrow off!" she said, a slight bounce in her step as their customary banter finished.

"I think the whole precinct heard I got tomorrow off," Nick said, recalling Chief Bogo's message from earlier, “his voice carries remarkably.”

"That and I can hear nearly everything that happens in the precinct."

"Like… up on the roof?" he asked cautiously but coolly.

"Not that far, and out on the street is an incoherent mess, but I can catch conversations from nearly any room in the building, depending on where I stand in the lobby."

"So, the male locker room is…"

"I stay out of earshot if I can help it," she said with a shiver, "I swear, no matter the species, you males are disgusting when you think no one's paying attention."

"Fart jokes?" smirked the fox, inwardly sighing with relief.

" _ Everything _ jokes; it's like the Y-chromosome can't develop past puberty."

"Tangible bodily expulsions are how we males communicate.  Why, I've carried on quite the conversation using only belches and snorts."

"Sounds utterly delightful," chided Judy, rolling her eyes and desperate to change the topic of conversation, she pulled something from her duffel bag.  "By-the-way, I got this coupon for half-off a junior scoop at Jumbeaux's. Wanna split it?"

"Do I want to gorge myself on ice cream until it's spewing from my ears, and still have enough left over to fill my freezer for the next week?  Yes, one-hundred percent," he said with that patronizing grin.

Nick's Jumbo-pop stunt convinced the ice-cream parlor elephant that he and Judy were a con-artist team; one tries to buy while the other comes in with a fake badge, citing some obscure violation.  During the Pred-Scare, under Ex-mayor Bellwether, Judy made amends with Jumbeaux by convincing a health inspector that the place  _ was _ , in fact, up to code; it was the one time she was glad for her temporary clout, especially since she was likely the cause of that spontaneous inspection.  So, she gets coupons every now-and-then for discount junior scoops (it's the thought that counts).

As it turned out, Nick got an elephantine sample spoon (and slipped a few bucks into the tip jar) while Judy noticed the "Pawpsicles", a product which -- understandably -- caught her off guard.  They sat in the cooled display case above the Jumbo-pops, with a child's scrawl of their four dollar charge and a picture of a smiling, saluting fennec fox in an old, hand-me-down Junior Ranger Scouts uniform.  "It's a new Zootopia," explained Jumbeaux, "I donate materials to a local Junior Ranger Scouts group and they make 'em into these 'Pawpsicles'. Aren't they adorable?" he said with a wink.

"Now  _ where _ did he get that idea, I wonder..." Judy said, purchasing a blue Pawpsicle while glancing sidelong at Nick, who smiled innocently and turned towards the door, licking his sample spoon scoop.

"See you tomorrow, Nick," said Judy when they arrived at the street that split their paths, "Or do you need more time to ease yourself into the concept of a 'day-off'?"

"No rest for the wicked, I'm afraid," lamented the grinning fox, "but I'll meet you for the evening train to Bunnyburrow."

"Yes!" gleed the rabbit, practically vaulting over him, "My parents wanted to see you again ever since the concert.  Oh, this is gonna be  _ great _ !"  She then hopped off, waving enthusiastically before dashing to the Grand Pangolin Arms and her apartment therein.  Nick shook his head amusedly, paws in his pockets.

_ So, I get to meet the folks, _ thought the fox, turning down an alleyway towards his apartment,  _ What should I say to them… it’s not like talking to parents is  _ easy _ or straightforward, _ and an aberrant thought crept in behind his eyes, stumbling his practiced, casual gait.   _ I’ll figure something out when I get there, I always do, no need to think on it now when I have all of tomorrow to do absolutely nothing _ .  He stopped again with a vigorous shake of his head and then quick-marched home to prevent any more uncalled-for ideas.

Nick Wilde's living conditions remained from his days as a popsicle hustler, a this-side-of-squalor single-room apartment with a sink and a larger mammal's dresser, the bottom drawer fashioned into a bed.   _ Maybe someday I'll get myself a proper apartment,  _ he considered,  _ Put some money away into a savings account, get a  _ good _ line of credit going, and then a mortgage, retirement fund... _  He paused, setting down his duffel bag to slump on its pliability, dwelling on a thought that until that afternoon wasn't even on the back burners of his mind, but tucked into the overhead cabinet behind the wit and snark _.   _ He knew who he needed to visit on his day off.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back for more? Curious, no doubt,  
> to know what that was all about.  
> A new day's here, so lend an ear  
> and we will get this figured out.

Dawn cracked with sparse cloud cover and that morning chill still lingering in the air.  Nick stirred from his makeshift bed, no alarm to wake him, simply a lifetime of early-days and sub-par sleeping conditions.  He brushed his fangs for that charming smile, brushed his fur to appear presentable, and chose the least wrinkled shirt for his visit.  After a quick breakfast of black coffee and a sesame seed bagel with cream cheese, Nick strode towards the Conifer District, mentally running through possible scenarios and appropriate responses.

 _Suitopia_ , read the sign, an established tailor shop for twenty-five years, _Business Hours: 10am-7pm, closed Fridays_ .  Nick knew the owner was inside and taking inventory, as he always did on Fridays, but still hesitated from knocking on the _'CLOSED'_ door.  After a deep breath, he stepped up and rapped on the wood-and-glass barrier.  Nothing. He knocked again. Still, nothing. Undeterred, Nick cracked his knuckles and brought up both paws to the door, letting the tips of his claws touch it; quickly, lightly, he scratched at the glass pane in seeming panic and then withdrew his paws behind his back into a relaxed stance.  In a matter of seconds, he heard the pattering of feet and saw the curtain on the door-panel pull back, an older fox peeking out. His delighted expression softened when he saw Nick and called from behind the door, tapping at the _'CLOSED'_ sign, "We're closed!"

"C'mon, this is my only day off, and look at me," Nick said, gesturing to his clothes, "I'm all shabby and unkempt.”

The older fox grumbled, scanning from behind his glasses, "Oh, _alright_ , get in here," he relented, unlocking the door to usher Nick inside, and then closing the door to re-lock it, "You look familiar; I've seen your face before, I'm sure."

"Well, I'm a fairly famous fox," explained Nick, looking around and then smiling over his shoulder, "first to join the ZPD."

"Ah yes, that 'Nick Wilde' fellow.  I have a son named 'Nick', haven't seen him in ages, though, worries his mother and I half-to-death," griped the older fox, cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief he pulled from his vest pocket, which combined with his tailored cream-colored shirt and dark chocolate slacks, all came together in a very professional ensemble.

"Really?" remarked the younger fox, "What a coincidence, I have a dad named 'John' whose tailoring shop is, believe it or not, still standing." They faced each other and embraced, "Good to see ya', Dad."

"You too, Nicky," John said with a broad smile, leaning up to hug his son, who was always tall for a fox, "What brings you to my neck of the woods?  It's not a holiday, is it?"

"Sort of," he said, leaning on the front counter as John leaned opposite of him, "As of today, I'm a respectable citizen of Zootopia."

"I'm proud of ya', son," John said, holding an elbow in one paw while the other gestured in judgment, "Looks like you need a respectable suit."

"You have _no_ idea," said Nick with a smirk and a tug at the collar of his shirt, "This thing's practically a dishrag, and I don't even have dishes to wash."

"Your mother would blow a gasket if she heard that," said John, exchanging a smirk, "C'mon, let's get you in the back and measured up.  Maybe knowing how much you've grown will quell her ire, after I tell her about your lack of cutlery."

"You'll tell her no such thing!  I rather like my head _not_ bitten off, thank you very much."

"Alright alright, chuck the shirt and stand on the pedestal," instructed John, grabbing up a notepad, tape measure, and tucking a pen behind his ear.  Nick complied, undoing his tie and his best raggedy shirt, tossing both onto a chair before hopping up. "How's the air up there, son?" asked John, cupping his mouth at a mock yell, "Getting a little thin?"

"What?" Nick called back, cupping a paw around his ear, "I can't hear you from all the way up here."  The two shared a chuckle at the younger fox's height. "Looks like the shop's doing well for itself," he said, lifting both arms as John measured his flanks.

"Hasn't burned down _yet_ ," replied John, looping the tape measure around Nick's waist, "It was touch-and-go during the Pred-Scare, so I closed up during the worst of it and kept Jackie company.  She really was scared for you, more so than usual."

"Yeah.  I was in the middle of that whole thing and drew into myself, hardly hustled a single Pawpsicle," he recalled, straightening up and putting his paws to his hips for the sleeve-lengths.

"Those Pawpsicles.  You loved making them when you were a kit.  As soon as you found out that you could turn apple juice into frozen treats, you did it with anything you could find.  You tried it with vinegar once, remember?" said John, pulling a stool over with his foot in a graceful motion, and hopping up to reach Nick's shoulders and neck.

"I'd rather not remember that, if I can help it," he grimaced, "I still sent money when I could."

"Nicky," John said, coming around and giving his son a sternly quirked eyebrow, "we didn't want your money, we wanted _you_ .  All the money in the world doesn't make a lick of difference without _you_."

Nick blinked his stunned response.  "So..." he finally said, "All that money is...?"

"In a savings account.  We're not stupid," John said with a smirk, squatting to get his son's inseam, "Tall and gangly...  your Mom's gonna stuff you full of food as soon as she sees you."

"Setting aside for retirement, are we?" remarked Nick, hopping down to sit on the pedestal as John reviewed the measurements, chewing his pen in that way he always did when concentrating.

"No, we've got our own account for that.  You sent us money, we assumed to keep it safe for you," said John offhandedly.

Stunned again, Nick dropped his jaw, "Wait, you're saying I've been putting money into _my own_ savings account all these years?"

"Just like your Mom always wanted you to," John said slyly, waggling his pen over his shoulder as he returned to the front of the store, doubly pleased by such an incredulous look, "Onward, youngin', I'm fishing out a decent shirt for you."

"But I like this one," replied Nick, picking up his green, palm frond-print button-up, "It took me years to get so threadbare."

"Your mother needs another dishrag and that'll do the trick.  Besides, we're heading to the bank today to see how much you have in that savings account of yours, so you'll need a proper suit."

"Wait, we're doing that _today_? I thought it'd be a nice, easy day of eating scones and drinking tea, or watching TV and drinking cider; depending on whether I spent the day with you or Mom," said Nick, and then adding, "respectively."

"Nicky, your mother and I have a _lot_ of parenting to catch up on and the first step is to make sure you're prepared for the real world.  Now, we did a mighty fine job of putting your money away for you, but since you're all grown up, we need to show you how to make proper use of it," John explained.

"And how long will this suit of mine take?  I _am_ freakishly tall."

"I like a challenge," stated John, "Now, you don't know what you like when it comes to suits, and since it's been so long since I've seen you, I'll need to get a proper image of what you'd look like in one."  He ushered his son over to a green screen that he pulled down far enough to be stood on, "Stand there and look relaxed, without slouching," he instructed, stepping back with his phone held up, "And... there," took a snapshot to bring it over to the counter.

Nick was surprised at how quickly that went, remembering the numerous sample suits his father would hold up in front of a client to conceptualize what looked good on them.  He peeked over John's shoulder as the graying fox swiped one suit after the next across the digital image. "Aren't _you_ full of surprises," Nick remarked, "Is that a tailoring app?"

"Nice, 'eh?  A raccoon friend of mine -- he's about your age -- made it up for me.  Still some bugs in it, irregular postures tend to muck things, but very handy, and it frees all that space from storing sample suits; the rodent suits weren't bad, it was the pachyderms which filled up my shop."

"Talk about your niche apps," said the younger fox, _Odd, such an advanced app is beyond anything on the market today, and who's this 'raccoon friend' of yours, Dad?  If he were the_ son _of a friend, you would've said so; you must know him directly.  Though, someone my age?_

" _All_ apps are 'niche apps', from a certain perspective," John said matter-of-factly, eyes never leaving the screen as he swiped, Nick hardly able to keep up, "This one!" he suddenly exclaimed, paws framing the phone as though it were in a soap bubble.  "It'll complement your height and build, its fabric is comfortable on sleek fox fur, and breathes for the season. The color compliments your particular shade of red and the waistcoat will bring out your eyes."

"Sure, let's go with that."

"Such a simple design, I'll finish it before too long.  Now, off with you," he said with a shoo-ing of his paws, "go get some flowers for your mother, I have work to do."

"And the dishrag?"

"Ah...  yes," he said, wagging his finger in thought as he went over to a display table and sifted through some dress shirts, before pulling out a silk, purple button-up, "This should do, won't clash with your fur _too_ much."  John laid the shirt over Nick's outstretched arms, "A tie and belt, both black, and these khaki slacks should do the trick."

"I don't suppose you have a pair of boxers for me, too?" said Nick dryly.

"I figured you wore briefs, but if you want boxers-"

"Okay, I don't even want to know why you _have_ spare underwear, Dad."

"Then don't ask, Nicky," John said smugly, pushing his son towards the changing room, "I'm sure you can figure it all out on your own, but if you need help I'm right outside."

"I don't think I can afford all this, small-time fox like me."

"I'll start a tab.  Put your old pants with your shirt."

"Why, are you going to donate them or are they headed for the rag pile, too?" asked Nick.

"Those I'll burn.  Pants don't make good rags, far too stiff."

"Can I get my wallet out first?"

John was poised to respond but stopped short when he saw Nick pull out his handkerchief, recognizing it as the neck-scarf of a uniform from long ago.  A tense silence passed between them.

"You kept it."

"Yep."

"I wondered where that went," John said.

"I take it with me wherever I go."

"I'm… sorry for what happened."

"What do you mean?" Nick asked.

"That night, with the Junior Ranger Scouts," lamented John.

"Dad, that was over twenty years ago, and it's not like you were _there_."

"You're right, I _wasn't_ there," he confessed, "It was the same day the shop opened, no longer apprenticing, but a shop of my _own_.  We were going to celebrate after you returned from the scout meeting… your mother and I both knew something was wrong, but you insisted everything was okay, so we didn't intervene."

"…I didn't want to ruin the good news," Nick admitted solemnly.

"No, Nicky, the shop never came before you, ever, and we should've said something, _done_ something to help you."

"Dad, really, it's in the past."

"A _divided_ past.  You went out at night, pretending to go to those meetings, and then when the police brought you home…" John said, fighting back a choked voice.

"Dad," comforted Nick, "I was with Finnick.  We wanted to be shifty, to act like the world thought we should and as the years went on, it got worse, but we got shiftier, knew our limits and played every advantage.  You're not to blame, and neither is Mom. I love you both; always have, always will."

"Oh, okay," sniffed John, clearing his throat and rubbing at an eye with that same smile, before setting his glasses in place.  "So you _are_ a boxers-guy," recovered John before Nick had a chance to pull up his slacks.  In John's line of work, watching another male undress and then dress was normal, and the precinct's locker room accustomed Nick to changing in front of other males, but…

"You had to make it weird, Dad," griped Nick.

"Maybe I _should_ get you some extra boxers, those look about ready to call it quits."

" _Alright_ , I'll go buy some new underwear later today.  I'm sure the cheap stuff you have is all itchy and chafes."

"Watch your sass, son," warned John, "I only buy top quality, bottom shelf, discounted, bulk-order undies."

Nick posed in front of the standing mirror, "So this is what having new clothes is like," he observed, rather pleased with the ensemble.

"Clearly, it's a bit challenging for you," John said, walking between Nick and the mirror to tuck in his shirt, cinch his belt, unroll and smooth both sleeves, button his cuffs, and redo his tie with swiftness boasting his years as a tailor, "Half-Winsor, Nicky, I taught you better than that.  Hmm… you need a jacket, light-colored and thatched."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do," insisted the older fox, already out front to the shuffling of coats and sliding of hangers.  On return, he held the jacket open for Nick to reach back and shrug the thing on, buttoning the front.

"Well, now, that _is_ rather classy, isn't it?  Maybe I should wear _this_ to the bank," Nick thought aloud.

"And deny an old fox the pleasure?  Nicky, you wound me."

"If I can get such a swell wardrobe from your spares, imagine how a proper suit would look."

"Already envisioned, son, and it's right dapper," boasted John, opening the jacket to put the younger fox's wallet in the left breast pocket and phone in the right.

"I do believe I'm ready to go see Mom," Nick said, loosening his tie an iota to undo the top button, "She'll hardly recognize me."

"Should I phone ahead?  Wouldn't want you spooking her."

"No need, I trust in her motherly instinct not to strike her own child."

"How uncharacteristically brave," smirked John, tugging his son's ear.

"Aah!" yelped Nick, leaning to the side from the height difference, "What, no fatherly advice for so daring a fox?"

"I _did_ suggest flowers; daisies should suffice to protect you."

"In that case, I'm off.  If I'm not back in an hour, call the police; they'll want to know I'm not coming in on Monday," he said and slipped out the front door of the shop.  Perhaps it was because the morning was further along or the new set of clothes, but the sun seemed to shine brighter on Nick.

 

* * *

 

Suitopia was only a few blocks from home, but Nick still needed a detour for those daisies, _Unless, of course, there happens to be a flower vendor nearby_ , he thought, spotting a cart vibrant with color and aroma, bee-lining to a basket of daisies to lean in and sniff.  "What can five dollars get me?" he asked a sheep behind a newspaper.

"Five dollars?" snapped the ram, lowering his newspaper in a huff before crumpling it in a fright, "Oh, uh… five dollars a handful, eight dollars for two," he quickly said.

"Wow, that's pretty generous," Nick said with a casual smile, "Tell you what, I'll get two handfuls, and you'll get two fivers."  He handed the anxious ram a bunch of daisies, who bundled them hastily while Nick searched his pants pockets. "Are you kidding me, I _actually_ forgot my wallet?" he groaned at the irony, "I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached-"

"Tell ya' what, I'm feeling _extra_ generous today, so they're on the house," said the ram, holding out the bouquet.

"Please, I insist," Nick said, surprising himself with his own integrity, _That rabbit is teaching me good habits in the worst ways..._ he thought, but deciding to roll with it, "It'll only be a minute-"

"No no, _I_ insist," he blurted out, practically shoving the flowers onto the increasingly bewildered fox, "I'll be gone by the time you get back, I'm sure, and you wouldn't want your pretty fox lady missing out on those flowers."  He was already packing up his other merchandise in something of controlled panic.

"Okay, look-"

"Maybe not a fox, maybe not a lady; who am I to judge?  It's Zootopia, 'anyone can be anything'," he rattled off, laughing awkwardly as he snapped the last of his cart up and hoisted the carrying-rods to hurry away, "Have a nice day offi- err...  fox, mister fox, sir!" he nearly bleated.

Nick's ears perked as he cradled the bouquet in one arm and reached into the left breast pocket of his suit jacket, "Look at that, I do have my wallet; first day wearing a-" but the ram was already hoofing it down the street and around a corner.

Opting for the back pockets of his slacks, Nick tucked his wallet into a familiar spot.   _I'd bet my tail that wasn't because I'm a fox,_ he considered, reaching for the phone in his jacket, hesitating, _but they don't bring mammals in for shiftiness, otherwise, I'd be serving multiple life sentences._ Instead, he continued towards his kithood home, mentally gnawing on the recent interaction.   _Wouldn't be the first time I caught a sheep with suspicious flora,_ pondered Nick, _I can smell Night Howlers a mile away, though, ever since Doug's underground lab, but there wasn't even a whiff of them on him, and wool holds onto scents like a sponge to water._

Content with his belief in the general goodness of others, Nick continued along until struck by another thought, one conjured by his life of a hustler-turned-cop.   _If he were some sort of dealer, he’d likely take the money and gives instructions in the wrapping_ , he considered while glancing down at the bouquet, knowing there wouldn't be anything inside, _The big problem is he readily recognized me, so catching another one isn't likely._ Nick checked his phone and bit his bottom lip with a disgruntled growl, thumb hovering over 'Clawhauser' in his contacts list, before clicking the button to send him a text message.   _Lessee...  "Suspicious mammal: ram, early 40's, graying wool, 5'1", south plains accent, missing a chunk of horn and ear on the same side from the same injury, last seen vending flowers in Conifer District, Cedar and 32nd, today about 5 minutes ago.  Maybe nothing, but maybe something", and 'Send'._ With a soft, tired sigh he stashed his phone and picked up the pace, intent to erase the whole event from his mind.

The enveloping scent of pine needles never really hit the wayward fox until the moment he saw the row of inner-city apartments, pushed together like books upon a shelf, each with a stone staircase connecting to the sidewalk.  How often he ran up and jumped down those steps…

At the bottom step, Nick looked up to the weathered oak door painted green, with its cast-iron hinges, knob, and knocker (Conifer District's style back when it was built), that portal through which a fox found solace from a suspecting world.   _I wonder if Mom still hosts her quilting clubs on Fridays…_ Nick considered, climbing that first step.   _She's probably out shopping; she always did that in the mornings…_ He climbed the next step.   _It's been weeks, months since I even tried to contact her, much less seen her; I'll be lucky if I don't get a wooden spoon to the brainpan…_ And up the final step, to stand upon the welcome mat, feeling as though he marched the gallows.  With an extended paw, his finger hovered over the doorbell, only to withdraw it, instead reaching for the knocker on the door, but hesitating; deep breaths further steeled him, and he balled a fist to strike the oaken slab in a particular rhythm, a quick and secret beat he knew from his youngest days, _Lee-la-dee, lee-la-dee, lee-did-diddy-dee-doo…_

A solemn moment passed and Nick stood patiently at the threshold, one paw in his pocket and the other still cradling the flowers to his chest until his ears perked at familiar mechanical clicks and creaks of the opening door.  There stood a vixen whose strawberry red fur was dusted with silver with her paws lightly clasped over a faint yellow apron, and a short-sleeved blue dress that looked ideal for lounging in. They shared in the downy silence as each, it seemed, waited for the other to speak first.

Nick turned the flowers over in his grasp as her eyes fell to them, and as he opened his arms to begin greeting in his typical theatrical gesticulations, she suddenly lunged forward to embrace him with a strength that betrayed her petite figure.  Typically, as did Nick and John, foxes banter with and jab their loved ones to express affection and endearment, a practice often misinterpreted by other families. However, this meeting bore neither wit nor snark, quips nor one-liners; in this reunion, there was just love.  For a solid minute, they stood as though to straddle the threshold, each surrendering a forward step so that they needn't reach so far to hold one another. His muzzle craned to lick at her chin and hers up to lick at his forehead.

"Nicky, you're fur and bones," Jackie finally said, an arm around his torso to yank him out of the real world and into a mother's dominion, her other paw accepting the daisies.  "Jacket on the hook there," she instructed, pointing to a polished fixture of a subtle, elegant curve, one of many jutting from a wooden board secured to the wall near the door. Nick complied with a warm smile, shrugging his brand new jacket to hang it on the offered spot, and never gave a second thought to the phone in its breast pocket.  A hustler's life taught the fox many safeguards, cautions, and contingencies that kept him from of the long arm of the law or the shadowy clutches of Zootopia's darker denizens; these, he left with his jacket.

The first sensation to hit him was the smell, that rich aroma of polished wood, vacuumed carpet, and cold, burnt tinge of scented candles unlit for several hours.  As he walked through the entry hall Nick noticed newer pictures on the walls, namely of him, if hanged no more recently than in the past year. With a closer look, he recognized what was a series: the first was of him in his Junior Ranger Scouts uniform saluting with all the joy a young fox could muster, perhaps the first time he wore it; the next was of his high school graduation, no special accommodations, simply one of the students that squeaked by; and then the cluster of photos, each one related to his few months in the ZPD, from a group photo of cadets in their training outfits to a graduation photo in his dress blues, and others were selfies taken of him and Judy, or them and Clawhauser, or simply him; all instances he remembered Judy snapping a picture and posting them on her social media site (something he vehemently refused to directly partake in).

How he wished he could walk back the last few minutes to when he felt secure in his decisions and doubts, when a world of underhandedness and conniving self-preservation made sense; when he still had his defenses up and couldn't feel the deluge of guilt and joy from seeing these poor quality printouts from Judy's FuzzBook page.  Since he wished to go back a few minutes, why not go back further and never pose for those accursed pictures, or attend the outings and festivities which they documented; so let not his heart soften with friendship and comradery. Heck, go back and back and back, to before Judy, to when it was only him and Finnick against the world, eking out survival with naught but their wits and trust for each other, doing what everyone else thought foxes did best, tucked away into the safety of anonymity; the silence of eternity whence they never came and into it they shall go.  No, even _that_ isn't far enough.  Why can't he go back to that day when he learned that all foxes were thieves and liars and murderers -- no matter if they were only a kit of eight or nine -- so to choose against reaching for something more than how the world sees him, thus never be crushed beneath unforgiving reality?  Why can't he keep that innocence? Why can't he forget it?

Why can't he?

Why can't he stop _crying_?  Why must twenty years of feelings and emotion crash upon a fox?  Why must he see this reflection of trust and friendship he cast, but never realized until it was too late?  Why must a heart have strings to play by the silent gestures of a mother? Nick wept, staring at the pictures and all they meant, all that went unsaid and what could have been those many, many years.  There he stood, not some stranger come to visit but the Prodigal Son returned to a patient home that never forgot him… surely, had eagerly awaited his return.

He knew Jackie guided him into the kitchen with a touch gentler than a snowflake's greeting, into a sturdy wooden chair with a hot cup of tea beneath his sniffling nose but it did not register to resist, nay, even protest her administrations; only to let his heart churn in its hardened, yet broken shell as the maternal warmth pour in.  After a tissue or four and a long draft of _Trill Grey_ tea, Nick leaned comfortably on the kitchen table.

"How are you, Mom?" he asked with a smile.

"Oh, I'm doing fine," she answered, refilling her son's cup before sipping her own, "Your father called as soon as you left the shop, giving me hardly _any_ time to clean up or even put the pot on.  It's a wonder I managed to get this place ready for visitors at all."  The house and entryway were spotless, so if any mess was had in that house, it hid away of its own accord or face her righteous wrath; the tea was at the right temperature for sipping and a plate of blueberry scones sat quietly between them on the table.  Additionally, while Nick blubbed, Jackie found a quaint vase to hold the flowers in.

"He knew you'd find a way," Nick said as he reached for a scone to pop it down his gob.

"We were at your graduation, Nicky, from the academy," Jackie explained casually, after another sip of tea, "and we're both very proud of you."

"Yes, I noticed the picture of Carrots...   _Judy_ , giving me my badge wasn't a printout.  Dad didn't want to mention that?"

"He wanted to give me something to boast about," she beamed, her giddiness showing through a practiced calm, if only for an instant, "It was my idea to print out those FuzzBook photos, but there's so many of them; maybe I'll put them into one of those collage frames."

"I didn't even know you and Dad were on that site, wouldn't figure either of you the sort."

"Oh, we're not; the shop is.  Your father said it needed a website but couldn't bother to learn how to make one.  Can't say I blame him." She shrugged with quiet emphasis, and then continued, "We're private folk, us foxes, always have been."

"I couldn't help but notice there was one up there of my community service," Nick mentioned.

"We found that on another fox's page one day with some _horrible_ things said about you," she said with a frown, glaring into her tea, "I've never seen John so mad, and he's the most level-headed mammal I know.  Nicky, you should've _seen_ him running up the walls in _such_ a state, I worried he'd charge right through the ceiling.  After he calmed down he replied and set your good name right, that 'a fox can honestly accept the consequences of his actions, and still be a fox'."  She nodded sagely.

"Wow," replied Nick, honestly unsure what to make of it, "So you kept the photo because...?"

"It's an excellent shot of you, sweetie, very noble."

"I'm covered in sweat and about to fall over."

"Yet so masculine," Jackie explained with a smile, "I show it to my girlfriends when they come over to quilt and they say you're quite handsome in it."

"Please tell me you're joking," groaned Nick, putting a paw over his eyes, "that you don't actually show _that_ one."

"Of course not," she laughed, "I show you off in uniform as much as I can.   _That_ 's my noble, handsome fox."  To which, Nick permitted a warm grin.  "You've turned quite a few heads among the young vixens, you know," she mentioned as an aside, glancing over the rim of her teacup as she sipped.

"I _am_ something of an anomaly," Nick pondered aloud, reaching over for another blueberry scone to toss into his mouth (mostly avoiding his mother's implying gaze).

To this, Jackie hooded her eyes and set her cup down in its saucer, the quiet clink little less than a judge's gavel, "I read on Judy's FuzzBook page that you're visiting Bunnyburrow this weekend.  A last-minute decision?"

"Yep, afraid so."

"Would it be possible for you to come to visit us again _next_ weekend?"

"Of course, Mom," assured Nick, picking up another scone, "where else can I get these delicious little things?"

"Oh, _Nicky_ ," she scoffed with a smirk as her son purposefully made a mess of crumbs on his chin, "you really are _impossible_ , always have been."  She was already up and adjacent, napkin cleaning his muzzle, "What am I to do with you?"

"Love me, I guess."

"I guess so."

They shared a quiet laugh as she cleared the table, Nick reclining in his chair with an arm slung over the back, "Speaking of foxes and baked goods, I'll likely meet this 'Gideon Grey' character Judy goes on about, gets his produce from the Hopps family farm.  A fox in business with bunnies, who'd've thought."

"Your father has plenty of rabbit clients, and mice, beavers, sheep, all types get their suits from him," she said in a somewhat rushed manner, the faucet running as she did a quick rinse of the plates for later washing, "It's good to see young foxes getting into that habit, too.  Especially you, Nicky, partnered with a rabbit in the ZPD." Her voice lightened and practically floated out the nearby window, turning off the sink and patting her paws on her apron.

"By the way, there's another last-minute decision," Nick said, "I'd like to treat you and Dad to lunch."  Jackie reacted precisely as Nick hoped she would by nearly jumping out of her fur, knowing she'd already settled into her "house clothes" and did nothing to fancy herself up; honestly, with the damp fur still clinging to her wrists and slightly askew fuzz around her head and neck, the very image of a homely mother set to tend her household as a curator to her gallery, she was quite beautiful.  Seeing that controlled panic blazing behind her eyes as she realized _every_ thing she needed to do before heading out had set Nick at ease, _Still my Mom even after all these years_ , he wondered with a wide smile.

"Oh, your father didn't mention anything about that..." she bargained, glancing up at the clock quickly.

"Like I said, 'last minute'," he explained, reaching for his phone, only to remember that it was still in his jacket, "I'll let him know _right_ now."

As he stood, pointing down the hallway towards the front door, Jackie edged her way around him to dash upstairs with a quiet, if hasty, pitter-patter of feet, muttering some annoyance or another.  The younger fox basked in his moment of congenial smugness; knowing full well there was no way she could resist, much less protest such an offer. The heartfelt moment they shared at the front door was wonderful in so many ways, but familial tricks are what keeps foxes keen, and also what keeps them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Wilde was based on an older fox seen in Nick Wilde's section of the official Zootopia art book and as well as an original draft of the movie script, wherein he and Nick go to apply for a loan to open Suitopia. He was never alluded to in the movie, one way or another, so it's reasonable to assume that he is either A.) dead or B.) estranged; I've gone for the latter option and will explore the circumstances later on in the story.  
> Jackie is meant to be something of a... an every-vixen character, largely unnoticeable unless you knew her personally. Her character takes some cues from Maid Marian since her coloration (both clothing and fur) is nicely reminiscent, so she has a lady-like demeanor and perception.  
> Fox family dynamics are rife with subtleties and presumptions, a building block thereof being the act of fussing over. Surely, Nick could have adjusted his own clothing (and yes, his life as a hustler made him lazy and devil-may-care) and cleaned his own face but the act of being fussed over is considered an endearment, sending the message that "I still need you", even for the autonomous adult fox.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	3. Chapter 3

His coat patiently hung at the front door of his kithood home, so Nick slipped his arm around and into the breast pocket, pulling out his phone to flick it on and found a text message with a photograph attachment from none other than Clawhauser himself.  Quickly glancing over his shoulder, Nick unlocked his phone and opened up the picture with the accompanying message of  _ "Is this him?" _ , and by golly, it was.   _ That flower-vending ram is already in the system _ , thought Nick, recognizing the missing chunks of ear and horn on the same side,  _ That cheetah is faster than I thought; I wasn't expecting to hear back from him until Monday at the earliest.  What to do with this new bit of information, though? I can't cut this day short, it's two decades in the making, I might as well spit in their eyes while I'm at it. _

_ It's not like he actually did anything, _ Nick considered, and opened up a reply text,  _ "Don't put out an APB yet but let me know if he pops up." and 'Send'.   _ The high-riding, good feelings of the morning took a momentary dip as he sighed and locked his phone, hoping against hope that he's not called into work on his day off,  _ I shouldn't go sticking my nose where it doesn't belong… when I'm off duty.   _ Nick almost dropped the phone as his fur went on end, for Clawhauser was prompt to answer.   _ Please don't be a pop, please don't be a pop...   _ he pleaded, holding his phone as though it were rancid, peeking out from beneath a cracked eyelid and a turned head as he swiped his lock screen to check the text.

_ "Will do~" _

Another, heavier sigh left his lips as he locked the phone once again to stash it into his coat pocket,  _ That should keep him busy.  Oh wait, I wanted to get a hold of Da- _  Nick dropped his phone time as it buzzed and rang with the one-of-many standard ringtones, 'Lofty Leisure'; luckily, his foot provided ample cushion for the falling mobile device, so that by the time it landed on the foot-traffic-compressed rug there was hardly any downward momentum.  The fox cringed and hopped on one leg cradling his poor phone-cushion as the melody continued its upbeat melancholia. Hissing through clenched fangs, Nick finally managed enough sense to stoop and retrieve his phone, swiping to answer the sudden call.

"Hi Dad," he huffed, clearing his throat as quietly as possible, "No no, I'm fine, I was about to call you and-… Yes, lunch for the three of us…  It can be after the bank, in case I spill anything on my new suit… No, of course, I wouldn't dare… You've never used a belt for that and never will…  I'll have to outrun you, then, wouldn't I? … I certainly could, you stitch all your slacks for the full range of movement, so I'll get my full stride… Another half-hour?  Dad, this has to be the quickest suit you ever made… I certainly hope double-timing it won't add to my tab… Oh, 'family discount', I see, well, maybe I  _ won't _ treat you and Mom to lunch, because I can't  _ afford _ it…  Alright, love you too, Dad, see you in a bit," he chuckled, locking his phone as the call ended and tucking it into his back pocket.

There were several minutes more before Mom was ready to head out, even if she only had 'another half-hour' to finish up, so Nick decided to ascend the stairs and check out his old room.  It's not like he ran away in the dead of night and was never seen again, or stormed out and turned his back on them forever; he simply… fell out of touch with them. Finding new, cheap resources for Pawpsicles took up most of his time, not to mention finding places to make them without getting caught, and while Zootopia was an  _ enormous _ city there were mammals with long memories, so he had to endear himself without being recognizable.  It weighed heavily on a fox's mind and, maybe, forgetting to call the folks every now and then was permissible, under certain circumstances.  It's not like he  _ completely _ forgot them, he still sent money on a semi-regular basis, after all.

_ "We didn't want your money, we wanted you," _ rang in Nick's ears as he neared the top of the stairs.   _ They didn't need my money, from the looks of it; they always were good with finances.  Nothing fancy, but certainly stable, _ he thought, the leaden weight of his absence on his shoulders again while he was alone with himself.  Ever since he entered the house, scents of his younger years filled him with such memories, both good and bad, but mostly good, since the bad were either not his fault and he found comfort in a parental embrace, or entirely his fault and he deserved what he got.  One step from the top, he heard a soft creak of wood to pause him, but then smiled and leaned his weight into it to get it really groaning.

Jackie was down the hall on the right, master bedroom, fixing up her fur to be "presentable", but Nick hung a left towards where he knew his old bedroom was.  The ceiling seemed so close to him, now; he could reach up and brush his fingers along it if he stood up on his toes. Perhaps it was this simple fact of height that really gave him an idea of how long he'd been gone.

At his former bedroom door, cleaned and touched-up, he stepped inside to find the guest room, along with uncertainty.  His lanky form leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed in thought as he looked over the neatly-covered bedspread and fox-sized furniture, a closet well-kept and empty, awaiting new clothes.  From the pictures downstairs, he knew they remembered him; judging by the bedroom, he felt like they moved on.  _ No point in waiting for a kit that won't come home, _ he considered, and approached the oblong bed to clumsily flop back on it, arms sprawled and sinking in almost instantly,  _ This is nice, maybe I'll get one of my own. _

His nostrils flared as he smelled something stunningly familiar.  Nick’s neck craned to spot a raggedy, old throw pillow, perhaps no bigger his head, sitting starkly against the newer bed makings.  He reached out a paw and grabbed it up, holding it over him in wonder at a patchwork sack of cushioning, covered in teeth marks, persistent stains, and countless stitches.  Nick remembered each thread of this pillow, for it was his own; other kits and cubs had blankets and dolls, he had a pillow, something he dragged around with him, snuggling into, chewed on, sneezed on, and sat on.  With all the repairs, it was more spare material and thread than any of its original fabric, but it had a bounce of new stuffing and clean freshness.  _ Why is this here? _ wondered Nick, sitting up onto his elbows and scooting about, raptly curious as he lay lengthwise on the bed...  and found it fit him. His feet didn't hang off the end, and his knuckles barely touched the sides; in fact, he could easily pivot on his seat to plant his feet to the floor.

There stood Jackie in the doorframe, quiet, a clean set of nice outing clothes and newly brushed fur, and that lipstick she liked to wear that made her lips a bit shinier.  It was clear to Nick what happened to his old room: it became his new room. "Officially, it's a 'guest room'," she said with an explanatory sigh, looking around at the succinct decor, mostly gender neutral if masculine-leaning; no real theme or aesthetic aside from livability, "Your father could always tell someone's height and build by looking at them, like an extra sense of what they'd be comfortable in, so we redid the room with you in mind.  A pair of old, sentimental foxes, we are." She cleared her throat and needlessly smoothed out the front of her dress. Nick set the pillow down and stood up to approach the door, so she took a step back to let him out, but he reached and embraced her once again, like before, across a threshold.

"I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner," he said.

"Your shirt's all wrinkly," she responded with a sniff, smoothing out the back of his shirt while embracing him.  He chuckled to such fuss.

"We should head out if we're going to arrive at Suitopia in time," Nick explained, politely gesturing with his paw for his mother to exit.

"John's a patient fox, he's likely fussing over some small detail and could use the extra minutes we'll afford him."

After Nick shrugged on his jacket and Jackie her purse, they went outside to lock the front door before trekking to the sidewalk.  She had a soft yellow Sunday skirt with flower embroidery around the hem, and a subdued green blouse with a bit more vibrant frill around the collar, sleeves, and waist that did well to bring out the skirt's flower-leaves.  Atop her head she wore a simple, short-brimmed hat and a set of modest sunglasses over her eyes; from her purse, she pulled out a second pair for Nick, which he ignored until they wagged insistently.

"Protect your eyes, Nicky, or you'll go sunblind."

"Only if I stare directly at the sun, Mom."

"Don't sass me, Nicholas, my girlfriend's daughter  _ never _ wore eye protection and went sunblind by twenty-five," she paused, and then sweetened her voice a bit, "She's very pretty, about your age, now; works a night job, of course, can only see in dim light, the poor thing."

"She sounds quite eligible," remarked Nick with a grin, "Were I in the market for a mate, I'd probably ask her out for coffee."

"I'm sorry, Nicky, I don't mean to push," she said with a sigh, "You'll find the right one when you find her."

"I'll find her," he said casually, causing Jackie's ears to perk, to which he leaned in for a smirk, "and we'll give you and Dad plenty of little grandkits to spoil."

"Well, we're not getting any younger," she said, patting her son's cheek, "I have a few more prospective vixens when you're interested."

"Running a call service on the side, 'eh?"

"You watch that tongue because I will  _ not _ hesitate to bend you over my…” he abruptly stopped, “Hold on, Nicky, let's cross the street here," she insisted, waiting at an intersection for the  _ WALK _ signal.

"Umm, sure," Nick complied, "Why?"

"It's one of those mushroom-on-a-stick carts; I can't stand how they smell," she said, focusing on the crosswalk sign, "They throw on far too many strong spices for my delicate nose.  I can practically smell it from here." Indeed, Nick saw a porcine vendor skewering swollen fungus and vegetables dipped in cooking oil, and then practically pouring on anything from garlic to pepper to turmeric; a short line of patient Zootopian denizens awaited their turn to order.  Nick's nose was certainly no less delicate, since when his nostrils flared he picked up five or six spices (that he could name) and it honestly made his head swim a little.

"You weren't kidding, that's some pungent stuff," he said with a frown, but added with a smirk, "I should call that in for some sort of health code violation."

"Don't be ridiculous, Nicky, that boar is doing an honest job and making lots of mammals happy," Jackie said, stepping onto the street when the signal gave the go-ahead, "I hear they're actually quite good, those kebabs he sells, it's only a shame I can't get near the things."

"On the topic of food, there's still the issue of taking you and Dad out to lunch.  I know of a nice little restaurant a stone's throw from here, inexpensive but not cheap; as good a way as any to break in a new suit."

"Don't let your father catch you saying such things, he works his fingers to the bone on those suits, and yours especially.  I wouldn't doubt if it's his finest yet."

"Let's not stop the presses until we see it, Mom, you know Dad doesn't like a fuss made of his suits," reminded Nick.

"Unless he's the one fussing, of course."

"Of course."

On their approach of  Suitopia , Nick pointed his nose towards the kebab vendor once again, and while the smell was not as strong when they aren't directly downwind of it, that wasn’t what caught his attention.  Even through his sunglasses and across the street, Nick recognized the boar's anxiety while spicing kebabs, and it was only for an instant but the vendor stared like he was caught in the cookie jar.

Jackie rummaged through her purse to pull out the spare key for the shop, sliding it carefully into the lock and twisting it a bit further than Nick thought locks should go.  She glanced up at his arched eyebrows and let herself in, removing her sunglasses and stashing them in her purse alongside her keys. "These old locks take a bit of fiddling to get open.  I keep telling your father to get something newer but you know him, he won't replace a thing until it's falling apart."

"Only if it's related to fabric," Nick replied, removing his sunglasses and wagging them insistently at his mother, who then stashed them in her purse.  "Hey Dad, I'm back," Nick called into the shop, "Mom tagged along."

"He must be in the back," Jackie concluded from the lack of response, "Be a dear and lock the door, I'll go get him."

Dutifully, Nick complied with his mother's wishes and turned to address the matter of dead bolting the door.  In fact, with Mom no longer in the room, he had a chance to get a better idea of the food vendor across the way, but he would need discretion.   _ So much for my day off _ , thought Nick, crouching to peek through a gap in the window dressing, squinting as the brightness of outside was a considerable difference to the dim light inside.  After his eye adjusted, he could make out the boar still serving his kebabs, much more relaxed without the knowledge of Nick's observation.  _ Could he be associated with Chunky the Ram? _ Nick wondered, thinking it no mere coincidence that two street vendors looked ready to hightail it when he came by; within hours and yards of each other, no less.

_ If this were some sort of drop-off point for Night Howler pollen, all those spices would mask the smell,  _ he rubbed his chin in postulation,  _ They meet the ram in the morning, purchase flowers with some sort of code-phrase, and then get instructions tucked in the bouquet.  At lunchtime, they hand off those same instructions to the boar and order the "special", probably some low-key dosage so not to arouse suspicion; and if they  _ do  _ get caught tripping out, they can blame it on "bad mushrooms".   _ His ears lay back again as he pulled out his phone, hoping to get a snapshot of the porcine vendor.   _ Doing the purchase and drop-off on the same street is unbelievably risky, but if it's small-time amounts to irregular customers, there wouldn't be nearly enough activity to arouse suspicion. _

The Conifer District is usually much shadier than it currently was, but the arborists were pruning the trees which comprised a vast majority of the area, so the streets had a bit more light on them.  This actually worked to Nick's advantage, since it lit up the kebab vendor without the need of a tattling flash. Carefully aligning the camera lens of his phone with the narrow gap in the curtains, Nick pinched and spread his fingers to zoom in, and with a flick of his thumb,  _ Blast, a car drove by _ .  He quickly stood when he heard footsteps approach from the back of the shop, studying the digital photograph and begrudgingly accepted the one shot he got of the car's after image blurring out the boar's face,  _ I'll hold onto this one, for now, _ and slipped the phone into his breast pocket.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Nicky," John said, pulling on one of his plainer jackets.

"He was on hold with one of his distributors," Jackie explained, shouldering her purse.

"At least I got the pattern sketched out, should have it all done by Tuesday, barring unforeseen calamities," said the fatherly fox, then looking to Nick, "Is that mushroom-on-a-stick thing still there?"

"Last I checked," reported Nick, "Still quite a line out there, though; I suggest somewhere with less standing."

"Let's head out the back," he grimaced, "I can't stand the smell of it."

"Is this a fox thing?  Because we weren't the only ones avoiding that kebab cart," recalled the younger Wilde, not thinking about it until that moment, but there  _ were _ other foxes that crossed the street or turned a corner, rather than walk by the boar and his strong spices.

The parental foxes exchanged glances before Jackie gasped thoughtfully, "Oh, it's probably allergies.  Other mammals call it 'fox flu' because us foxes have  _ such _ a sensitivity to certain smells," she explained, "It's usually not a problem in Zootopia, much less the Conifer District, because we have medications for stuff like that, and it goes away once you build up a resistance to it.  I'd bet my tail that boar is using some exotic spices."

"I thought only kits get 'fox flu'?" asked Nick, remembering when  _ he _ had it; not his favorite memory.

"Well, of course," answered John, "but this 'exotic spice' must be potent enough to trigger it.  That's awful unfortunate; I hope it doesn't catch on."

_ Unfortunately, it already it has, _ Nick pondered with growing suspicions.  He smiled and shrugged, "They'll come out with a new pill for it, and so turns the wheel of society.  Let's get over to the bank, cross that off our list, and enjoy the rest of our day together, 'exotic spices' or not."

"Ever the pragmatist," giggled Jackie as she turned to John, "he gets that from your side of the family."

"Well, I am mated to you," he answered with a smile, touching his nose to hers.

"If ever there was a need for an exit," commented Nick, averting his gaze.

"Don't knock it, youngin', once you get a mate of your own, you'll be wanting it all the time," teased his father, an arm around Jackie's shoulders so to usher her towards the rear exit.

"He's not 'in the market for a mate'," Jackie informed, "Told me so himself."

"His loss," and reached down to pinch her, causing the vixen to jump with a quiet yelp.

"John!" she chided but giggled once more as she batted his chest.

"Guys, c'mon, I'm still here," reminded Nick, walking a few steps behind them.

"Then pick up the pace or we'll miss the bank teller," laughed John.

John and Jackie walked arm-in-arm out of the back alley, Nick sauntering with his paws folded behind his back, out into the sunshine of 32nd to avoid the kebab vendor's spices of Cedar Street.  Jackie was quick with her hat and the sunglasses, somehow managing to store three pairs in her purse, handing them out to her two most favorite foxes in the world (John's was the type designed to fit over his regular eyeglasses).  Along the way, Nick filled his folks in on his life, nothing too detailed (like sleeping in a dresser drawer, lack of dishes, and habit of eating take-out food), but he relayed everything with its proper dramatic flourish to make the simpler things seem more exciting.

"...and then  _ I _ said, ‘Next time, check  _ all _ of your pockets!’," joked Nick, to which John burst a laugh and Jackie politely giggled.

"Nicky, I don't know which is weirder, how much trouble you get in for checking meters or how you always manage to find those  _ dreadful _ Howler dens," Jackie said as they approached Conifer District branch of  Bear-Steerns .

"I'm lucky, I guess," Nick said, hopping up the steps to pull and hold open the mid-sized door for his parents, receiving a motherly pat on his cheek for his troubles.  Inside, sunglasses were removed (and stashed in her purse) as the Wildes made their way over to the nearest available teller, a mountainous bear with a set of reading glasses perched on the end of her long nose and tethered to her neck on a beaded lanyard, which she glanced over as the foxes approached.

"Ahh, good morn… oh, no, it's past noon, isn't it?" she said in a cordial tone, gesturing to the large chairs with a professional smile, "Good  _ afternoon _ , my name's Claire, how may I help you?"

John assisted his mate up into one of the chairs before Nick scooted it closer to the desk, and then hopped up into a chair himself; the parents sat comfortably side-by-side while their son reclined, earning a quiet "Sit up, Nicky" from his mother.  "Well," began John, "we came to check out the status of our account and review any available options." On cue, Jackie pulled out an envelope and laid it on the desk as best she can reach, which the teller nodded in thanks and picked up to open.

"What else d'you have in there?" asked Nick with a quirked eyebrow.  Also on cue, Jackie pulled out a peppermint and handed it to him, "Ooh," he responded, and unwrapped it to pop in his mouth.

"Mmhmm..." hummed the bear while foxes sat patiently, her long claws tapping at the keyboard.  "Ahh, so this must be young Nicholas," she said with a smile, leaning to see Nick from around her monitor, "I remember when my Kody was that small.  My, how they grow..." she said, looking to Mr. and Mrs. Wilde.

"Hardly seems a day since he could press his face into my apron as he hugged me," sighed Jackie.

"I still do, but the positioning is a bit more awkward," quipped Nick.  John stifled a laugh and Jackie cleared her throat.

"Alright, I have your account information here.  Let's see… you opened the account when he was two, so that's at least thirty years, and  _ this _ is the total, after interest," Claire explained, turning her monitor around for the convenience of the fox family.  Nick almost choked on his peppermint as John and Jackie sat in shock at the figure on the screen. Coughing the minty treat into his paw, Nick took a moment to catch his breath as he stared at the account information.  "Oh dear, are you alright?" asked a concerned Claire.

"I would say I'm set for life," Nick said meekly, popping the peppermint back into his mouth as he sat back, letting it all sink in.

Outside, Jackie supplied the sunglasses as before, while Nick and John remained thoroughly stunned.  "Wow," Nick finally said, running his fingers through the fur on his head, "I wasn't expecting that."

"Well," agreed John, "we started that account when you were barely walking, and… never  _ actually _ looked at it in all this time."

"I guess I can finally start paying off those credit card bills and goodness knows how many of those other debts.  Wouldn't mind being able to use those again," remarked Nick.

"Well, I dare say there's hardly much more parenting needed from the likes of us, at least for today," chimed Jackie, patting her mate's arm, "Now, I'm famished.  You mentioned a restaurant nearby, Nicky?"

"Not too far from here.  I know the owners, sweet couple, you'll like them."

 

**_(Lunch)_ **

"Oh," said Jackie as they arrived at the location,  I'll Be Dammed , a quaint fish eatery that was, appropriately, built into the dam of a river running through Conifer District, "This is Bea's place, Beatrice Dammer and her mate Vernon.  She's part of my quilting circle… Oh, this is going to be awkward, I kind of canceled last minute."

"She'll understand," assured John, patting her paw while they walked arm-in-arm, "It's not every day your son visits out of the blue."

"Besides, beavers are the forgiving sort," added Nick, "so long as you don't mess with their stuff."

"She was looking forward to finishing that one pattern today," dreaded Jackie.

"Not to worry," said her son, pulling out his phone, "I have dispatch on speed-dial, I can get a squad car here in under a min- _ aah _ !"  His phone buzzed violently and he nearly dropped it, which considering their location on the log-bridge leading to the restaurant, would have ended poorly.  "And we're turning off vibration," grumped Nick, unlocking his phone and setting it to only sound-based notifications before checking the text message; it was 'Carrots'.  His ears perked as he opened the message and was relieved to see it was only well-wishes paired with anticipation for that night, as opposed to anything dramatic. "Judy sends her love," reported a grinning Nick as he replied to the message and tucked his phone into his jacket pocket.

"Oh, did you tell Judy about us?" asked Jackie.

"Hmm?  No, not yet," Nick admitted, "maybe when I see her this weekend.  The topic never really came up that I dropped out of touch with my parents."

"Oh, Nicky…" Jackie cooed, reaching over and looping her arm with his, so she walked with her two favorite foxes in the world on either side of her.

"Well, son, we're putting the past behind us for a better future," said John with a smile.

"Alrighty, you two," smirked Nick, "there are other mammals coming up, let's keep the family moments in check."  They shared a chuckle.

A leaving family of squirrels passed them as they came up to the restaurant and Nick held the door open for his folks, walking in to find that the place was fairly empty, despite a Friday lunch hour.  "Quaint" described it well; almost everything was either made of or looked like wood, rather spacious with a third of the area comprised of a bar, while the rest was filled with tables and booths. At the moment, perhaps two or three other parties inhabited the place; still, it felt like a family-run restaurant, or as Mr.  Dammer called it, a "pub".

"Bless me, if it isn't John and Jackie!" said a portly male beaver, coming out from the kitchen and taking off his apron, "And Nick, where've you been, I 'aven't seen you in a month?  You used to come in every other Friday."

"Oh, good, you already know each other," said Nick, smiling as he removed his sunglasses to rest them on his brow.

"Of course I know the  _ Wildes _ ; he's only the best tailor in Zootopia," lauded Vern, "and Jackie, so good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, Vern.  How's Bea?" asked the vixen.

"'Allo Jackie," came another voice, this one from a portly female beaver as she, also, came out from the kitchen.  Her demeanor was noticeably cold but then she laid eyes on Nick and her face lit up. "Bless me… is that  _ Nick _ ?  Oh, lookit you!  Your picture doesn't do you justice, lad.  Jackie…" she scolded playfully, "You should 'ave  _ told _ me your son was visiting, I was upset all morning.  Our Friday quilting circles  _ are _ the highlight of my week and I’d gone and worried you ducked out for no reason."

"Wha-?" said Vern, gawking and pointing from one fox to the other, "This one's  _ your _ Nick?"

"Of course he's  _ John _ 's Nick, whose did you think he was?" chided Bea.

"They aren't the only 'Wilde' foxes in Conifer, Bea."

"These're the Wildes with an 'e', Vern; the others don't have an 'e'!"

"It's a  _ silent _ 'e', how am I supposed to hear a  _ silent _ 'e'?" protested Mr. Dammer.

"Don't mind him," Bea said, turning to the Wildes-with-an-'e', "it's that new sports bar that opened up down the way that's got 'im fit to be tied.  Vern, be a good host and show 'em to a booth, I'll put on some tea."

"Go easy on him, Bea," said John with a smile, "he's a great host and a great friend."

"Oh, bugger all, no need for such flattery," said Vern, beaming wide at it all, "There you are, your favorite booth.  Will it be the usuals, then?"

"That'll be great, thank you," said Jackie, and the beaver walked back into the kitchen.  She turned to Nick, who looked out the window at the river beyond. The booth felt distant from the restaurant as the older foxes studied their son across the table.  "We didn't realize how hard today was for you," Jackie finally said, reaching out and resting her paw on Nick's. He looked at her and tried to smile, but barely curled the edges of his lips.  It was clear to the three of them, purely by the Dammers' reactions, that not only did Nick lose touch with his parents but he actively avoided them, and yet stayed as close as he could. Maybe it was guilt; maybe it was shame; maybe it was a thousand different reasons that he couldn't face them; maybe he couldn't bear  _ them  _ facing  _ him _ .

"I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner," he murmured.

"We forgive you, Nicky, of course, we do," said John, "Can you ever forgive us…?"

“For…  _ everything _ ?” Jackie added.

The younger fox looked up, eyes misty, and with the handkerchief from his old Junior Ranger Scouts uniform, he dabbed away whatever tears might've formed with a warm smile, "Of course."  Nick removed the sunglasses from his brow and handed them -- along with his handkerchief -- to his mother for storage in her purse, which she did contentedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Benjamin Clawhauser, that golden marshmallow dispatcher of the ZPD makes an appearance (in the loosest sense of the term). I originally had an idea that Nick and Benny (along with Finnick and Flash the sloth) actually knew each other in high school as a sort of "uncool kids group". Whether or not I'll explore that particular relationship in this story is yet to be seen.
> 
> The two beavers at the end of this chapter are based off of Mr. & Mrs. Beaver from the "Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" (which is a Disney property).
> 
> Nick's relationship with his parents has always been a curiosity of mine and something we'll know much, much more about in later parts ot the story. For now, they are together and healing.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted as the second chapter of Trustworthy, with Nick's parents coming in as a "and this happened a few days ago". It's also one of the first instances in the story when the plot surprised me with how it developed. Adventure, ho~!

Savannah Central Station , the main hub for high-speed rails to all of Zootopia and its outlying areas, like Bunnyburrow.  7:35 pm, three minutes until the next train, and Nick was sauntering back from the ticket booth to an expectant Judy.

"Are  _ all  _ foxes procrastinators, or is it only  _ you _ ?"

"I got my ticket didn't I?" said Nick in good humor, waving it in the air.

"There won't be any hotel rooms left," Judy answered in a sing-song, hoisting her suitcase as they boarded the train.

" _ Sure _ there will, Bunnyburrow is designed for a high capacity population.  Look, all I need to do is open this new hotel app  _ and… _ " he said, elongating his conjunction in anticipation for an easy answer, flopping down on a train bench and flicking his thumb across the screen, humming as he browsed.  "Okay,  _ that _ one's full but I can check the next hotel," Nick assured, his confident grin fading to impatient annoyance, "Nope, also full… full…  _ full… _  Hmm…"

"Dumb fox," jabbed Judy.

"Luckily, being a fox, I have a certain  _ knack  _ for improvisation," he said, and opened up another app, " HareBnB , for the traveler without a hotel reservation.  As I said, Bunnyburrow is designed for high capacity, there will be a spare room or closet for me, I'm sure.  Lessee… full… full… ‘no foxes’? … full…  _ full… _ fu- Okay!" he barked and stashed his phone.

Judy's eyes scanned him but out of curiosity.  "Don't you need a credit card for that app?"

"Yes?" Nick replied casually.

"Since when did you leave a paper trail?" she asked, scooting in closer on the bench.

"Since today," he explained, turning to face her with an elbow on the seatback, "I was not some laze about on my day off."

"Well, look at you, Slick," the rabbit admitted, mildly impressed, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were on your way to becoming a contributing member to society."

"It's a good thing you do know better, Fluff.  Only the bare minimum societal contributions for me, I  _ do _ have an image to uphold after all."

"An image you'll gladly flaunt for all the bunnies of the world,  _ hmm _ ?"

"Not all, only the ones in Zootopia and Bunnyburrow," he insisted.

"That might as well be all, especially this weekend," Judy corrected, "It  _ is _ the TBR, you know."

"Come again?"

"The Tri-Burrow Reunion.  Once in a generation, all the bunnies in the Tri-Burrows area meet up in Bunnyburrow to get back to our roots.  It's said to be the very first Burrow established by rabbits, back in-"

"Carrots," interrupted Nick, fingers at his temples, "When you said 'crowded' yesterday, you didn't say 'every rabbit ever'."

Judy groaned awkwardly.  "I thought you knew about the TBR, you seem to know, well, everything, so I naturally assumed you also knew about… I mean, it’s out in the  _ country _ so it might not necessarily be in your purview…"

"Am I going to be the only non-rabbit there?" he asked their reflections on the dark window opposite of them.

"Well, no, of course not!  Yes, most of other Burrow denizens go on vacation during the TBR, which is about two weeks at its height, but not everyone goes away.  Oh!" she said, clapping her paws, "Gideon! Gideon probably won't go anywhere, you could stay with him!" She whipped out her phone and pulled up his contact info, dialing him up and crossing her fingers, "Please be there, c'mon…" Judy said, ignoring Nick's exaggerated sigh, "Gideon, hi!" she practically jumped in her seat, "Listen, I need a  _ really _ big favor, and I'm sorry it's so last minute…   _ No _ no no, I'm okay, no one's hurt, listen, you know it's the TBR this weekend, right? …  Are you staying in the Burrow for it?" she put her paw on the phone's mike and whispered at Nick, "So far, so good.

"Uh huh… " she continued, speaking into the phone once more, "Oh, I'd love to visit and  _ speaking  _ of visiting, you'll never guess who tagged along.  Nick Wilde! … Yeah, I know, right?" she seemed eager to get the conversation moving along, trying to find a good spot to ask, "Okay, so about that favor, Nick couldn't get a hotel room and needs a place to stay…  You will? Great! Ooh,  _ thank _ you, Gideon, I owe you big time…  Yeah, we're arriving on the evening train…  Yeah, ten-o'clock… Okay, see you then, buh-bye!" she said, and turned off the phone with a relieved sigh, "There, crisis averted."

"Something about frying pans and fires, I'm sure," huffed Nick.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't say anything about the Reunion but I'm sure you'll get along fine with Gideon," she reasoned, "He's a bachelor, you're a bachelor."

"He's a fox, I'm a fox," added Nick blandly.

"You both know me and I have  _ excellent _ taste in friends."

"Sly bunny," relented Nick, to which she smugly grunted and smiled.

“Oh!” Judy remembered, “Something I  _ should _ warn you about Gideon since you’ll be staying with him is that he has…” she said, paws oscillating in front of her to find the right descriptors and then performed the ‘bubble’ gesture around herself, “ _ space  _ issues.”

“I can’t have imagined that bunnies would mind avid huggers-” Nick began and then snickered, “ _ Oh _ wait, you mean he’s  _ not _ into all that.”

"Don’t get me wrong, he’s an absolute  _ creampuff _ , just don’t… touch his back or cheeks, he’s  _ kind  _ of sensitive about those areas,” Judy explained, and then leaned forward onto her knees with the utmost interest, “So!  Aside from building credit, what  _ else  _ did you do on your day off?  I noticed your new shirt; you actually look halfway decent in purple."

"I met with some… old friends," he said, looking out the window with an expression Judy couldn't quite pin down, except that it was a positive feeling.

Though burning with curiosity, she did not inquire further.  "That sounds like a nice story, one I'd like to hear someday."

Nick smugly grunted and smiled, "Soon enough, Carrots."

 

**_(Bunnyburrow)_ **

It was almost 10pm when the train finally arrived in Bunnyburrow Station and the foot-traffic died down to a sparse pattering.  Awaiting their arrival were Judy's parents, Stu and Bonnie Hopps, as well as a splattering of brothers and sisters, and standing out like a buoy in the sea of rabbits, Gideon Grey.  Her bright, purple eyes scanned to fall on her parents, leaping at them to embrace as her siblings, likewise, threw themselves upon her. Nick watched, unsure if he should laugh at the over-abundance of affection or rest back on his heels and admire the familial display; sensibly, he picked up his and Judy's suitcase and stepped away from the train so it could close its door and slide off into the night.

His eyes met Gideon's, who smiled cordially and waved a broad paw, though only high enough to be seen over the tall grass that was rabbit ears.   _ He's been bunnified…  _  thought Nick, smiling and waving back.  Nick already greeted the Hoppses, shaking paws and rattling off his practiced lines of meeting new mammals he wasn't trying to con (a growing list, these days); with Judy's rapport and his own prominence as the first fox in the ZPD, Nick could walk right into the family and be welcomed with open arms.  His concern was not the family's acceptance, however; no, of all the denizens of Bunnyburrow, his concern was for the other fox in Judy's life and the mysterious "Bo", her boyfriend.

_ It's not jealousy, _ Nick assured himself,  _ I'm Judy's partner on the force, after all, and she the first bunny cop.  It's my responsibility to see potential dangers where she cannot, for the sake of not only her reputation but all rabbits'. _  For several minutes, the Hopps family swarmed him in greeting until he feigned a yawn and explained what a long day it certainly was.  To the best of his knowledge, Nick could not recognize any of the bunnies as the farm boy in the selfie-shot on Judy's phone, and while he wanted to ask about Bo -- perhaps on the pretense of teasing Judy -- he knew that Gideon was watching him; a fox is a fox, however bunnified, and it was of the utmost importance to not let slip any intimate tells on the first meeting.

"How's Bo's ankle?" asked Judy, after Nick finished the rounds of handshaking.

_ Stop reading my mind, Carrots,  _ thought Nick.

"Oh, he's fine, he's a strong boy," said Bonnie.

"Yeah, practically had to strap him to the bed to keep him off that foot," explained Stu, "Almost bolted the bed to the floor, too.  He is eager to see you, though, so bring him some tea and crackers when you get home."

"After you put your stuff away and had something to eat.  Train food gives you the gurgles, you know," explained Bonnie, earning some muffled giggles from the assortment of siblings.

"Mom!" Judy quietly exclaimed, grabbing up her suitcase and forcing a smile, "Let's head on home, then, before any more of my idiosyncrasies come to light.  C'mon, c'mon, no point standing around on the platform. G'night Nick, Gideon, see you tomorrow!" And with that, the Hoppses were piled into the family van and driving away.

"Ayeup," said Gideon, tossing a thumb over his shoulder, "I'm parked back here."

"Is there any truth to rabbits popping out of the ground, like cicadas?" asked Nick, toting his suitcase to follow.

"Never seen it myself," remarked the stouter fox, "but the timing matches up."

"Word is you're a baker and making an honest name for yourself, no less."

"So says the van," replied Gideon, clapping his palm on the side of his vehicle, emblazoned with the business logo of 'Good Baked Stuff' and a smiling pie, "but don't go telling about my 'honest name', I've a reputation to protect."

"Perish the thought," Nick playfully dreaded, handing his suitcase to his host to stow it in the back of said van.  Sitting shotgun, Nick sniffed and turned to the driver when he stepped in, "A fan of cinnamon, Gideon?"

"Some of us use more than fruit juice in our sweets, Nick," he smirked while starting the engine.

"Not that I was complaining, simply observing."  And observe he did. While the driver kept his eyes on the headlight-illuminated country road, the passenger's gaze averted only to blink, a silent period of contemplation and concluding.  " _ Hmm _ ," Nick simply grunted.

"'Hmm'?" grunted Gideon in response, "Care to share, or are you keepin' to your quietness?"

"Nothing to share you don't already know, or that Judy already told me."

"Go on, don't leave us hangin'."

"What's her name?" asked Nick.

"'Her'?" asked the driver, glancing to his passenger.

"Your sister."

"Esther," he relented after flinching, "I s'pose if Judy told ya' I had a sister, she'd've mentioned her name.  What gave it away?"

"Let me know if I get anything wrong: you're a farmyard predator and were big for your age, so you relied on ferocity, unlike clever foxes that grow up around larger predators.  But, whoopsie, there were other pred kids that grew up bigger than you, so you had to hone your wit or else ride that spiral of violence into eventual self-harm. Obviously, you dropped the bully act and somehow endeared yourself to the ninety-nine percent rabbit population of Bunnyburrow through a means which eventually lead to your current profession; luckily for you, there was someone who took great pleasure in sharpening their own wit on the whetstone of a brother that was young Gideon, which gave you the best chance to sly up and fox right via reciprocation.  Since the side of the van doesn't say 'Grey Bros. Bakery', I'd wager you have a sister who, much like Officer Fluff, wanted more out of life than the farm and took her good grades to Zootopia to become Esther Grey, defense attorney."

Gideon's eyes tried to stay on the road as he pulled into the lot behind his bakery/apartment.  His brow furrowed as he parked and killed the engine, keen night-time eyes studying Nick. "I'd say she put you up to this, but I can smell her schemes from a mile off," he stated, face softening into a smile, "How d'you know her?"

"Police officer; I come across her name every now and then, in case a predator needs legal counsel.  I figured she was a cousin since not many bother to move from the farm to the city, but meeting  _ you  _ cleared up your relation to her."

"Fancy that, she's visiting this weekend, so you'll get a chance to meet her, too."

"Oh, she's one of the lucky ones to grab a hotel in this fluff-storm?"

"She didn't say," shrugged Gideon, stepping out of the driver's seat and towards the back of the van, "but she's got some friends in town she can stay with."

"Well, that's a leg up on me," admitted Nick, slipping out of the passenger seat to retrieve his suitcase.

"No need to be so glum, Stretch, you got Judy."

"Yeah, I guess I do," he said, voice softening some while grabbing his luggage.

Gideon closed the van door as he gawked at Nick, "Ohh!" the stouter fox suddenly gasped as he cupped a paw to his smile.

"Clawhauser, when did you get here," said Nick dryly.

"You like Judy!"

"Well, yes, we're friends and partners, so of course I  _ ‘like’ _ her," evaded the taller fox.

" _ Nuh-uh _ , you know exactly what I'm talkin' 'bout.  You've got it bad for her, no denyin'," he said, arms crossed over his chest with a much smugger smirk than before.

"Ours is strictly a professional and platonic relationship," denied Nick, "Full of buddy-cop moments and what-have-you."

"Yeah-huh, I seen the way you looked at her, if only for a moment."

"Pastry chef and love doctor, all rolled into one?"

"This is gonna get real awkward tomorrow with Bo," Gideon realized with a pause.

"It really won't," Nick replied stoically.

Gideon stood upright with a sharp inhale and arched eyebrows, and then grunted in affirmation, "In that case, let's get you inside, no need for us foxes to conspire in the dead of night like this.  'Fraid I only got a fold-out sofa for ya', though."

"I'm sure it's plenty comfortable," said Nick, reconstructing his casual grin, recalling his makeshift bed in a dresser-drawer back home.   _ Imagine that, a sharp farm-fox… _

"You know what you need?  Some of my special 'Eat Yer Blues' blueberry pie," declared Gideon, walking up the wooden steps to his apartment above the bakery, "That'll do you right."

"I'm always right, Bangs," he stated, finally settling on a nickname,  _ 'Doughboy' might be a bit too familiar; maybe later _ .

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," and with a flick of his finger, the dim light was on in his flat, better proportioned for a fox than Nick's apartment back in the city.

_ Quaint _ , thought Nick,  _ all the amenities a bachelor could want. _  His eyes quickly swept the room, spotting a photo of what was surely the fox family of four hanging above the couch.   _ Father's a crafter, maybe a carpenter, and roughly the size of a truck; mother stayed at home and did a lot of baking herself, from the looks of it, no doubt where he got it from, probably a channel for 'unchecked rage and aggression', I recall Judy saying. _

"Bed's in there," Gideon said, pointing to the sofa as Nick put his bag next to it, "but first, pie."

_ Twist my arm, free pie, _ Nick silently cheered, "I don't have a choice in the matter, do I?"

"One bite and then you can go to bed," he offered, pulling out three-quarters of a pie and a tub of what looked to be whipped cream from the fridge before nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Looks like you had a few 'Blues' to eat yourself," smirked Nick.

"Nah, I jus' like it, is all," Gideon replied as he pulled a knife from the counter to cut a slice of pie, setting it on a plate pulled out of an overhead cabinet.  He then popped the tub and took out a big wooden spoon to scoop up a mighty dollop of "Fresh, hand-whipped cream, none of that canned stuff. Don't get me wrong, it has its time and place, but that place ain't here, since it's a special occasion," and topped off the pie, "Got a whole vat of it prepped for the TBR."  Finally, he set a fork on the plate and slid the whole shebang over to his guest before serving himself a similar portion. Nick quirked a brow as he picked up the fork, breaking off a piece of blueberry pie topped by whipped cream, and brought it up to his mouth. "Nick?" Gideon then asked.

All of Nick's mental training crumbled like the pie crust in his mouth, eyes rolling back through his skull and loosing a muffled moan as he spread the whipped cream and blueberry concoction across his tongue, nearly inhaling it as his lips wiped the fork clean.  "I know someone at the precinct that would run here from Zootopia if he knew this pie existed," said Nick, forking a larger piece to eat. He licked pie-bits from his lips and looked down at the blueberry carnage that was his slice of 'Eat Your Blues'.

"Gosh," remarked the stouter fox, "I don't s'pose you'd want another slice, Stretch?  You could use some meat on them bones."

"Well, if you're going to twist my arm," said Nick, sliding his plate back over the table for another helping.  Gladly, Gideon set his own utensil and unfinished pie aside to serve up a larger piece of crumbly-crust treat topped with a mightier dollop of whipped cream.

"Now, let's hear about you and Judy," pried Gideon, returning to his own dessert.

"Honestly, there's not a lot to tell," replied Nick, literally sugared up by the baker's decadence, "She's one of the first mammals to earn my trust in a long, long time."

"Is she really?" Gideon murmured, though around his fork as he kept at his pie, ears up and forward at such admittance.  "A bunny earning a fox's trust; I've now seen everything."

"Aren't you in business with the Hoppses?"

"That's business, Stretch, you know it ain't the same thing.  Sure, I trust that they'll provide me with their fruits and veggies, and, ya'know, I'm sure they'd come to help me if I ever got in trouble -- of course, I'd do the same for them -- but it's… not really the same as  _ trusting  _ someone.  You know what I mean?"

"Unequivocal trust."

"That, that's the word, what you just said," interjected Gideon, waggling the handle of his fork across the table, "I don't have that kind of trust with them, strictly a business kind of trust.  I mean… I don't know how they can trust me after what I did, after everything I did. I feel like I'm still earning their trust but I'm okay with that."

"Well then," chuckled Nick, "and I thought  _ I _ was supposed to be the talkative one."  Gideon gave him a furrowed brow and a smirk, eating another bite of blueberry goodness.  "So, here I go: she saved my life in Tundratown and Rainforest District, granted, I likely wouldn't be there if not for her, but she still saved my life, even though on both occasions, she could've easily let me fall to save her hide.

"I opened up to her, bared everything, and then she broke my trust," he pondered, tapping his fork on the plate and contemplating his next bite, "but she earned it again, and as such, I wanted to trust her again."  His eyes -- once cast to the blueberries covered in crumbly crust -- rose to glare across the table. "Even after she betrayed me, Gideon, I trusted her again. Who does that? What rational mind decides to trust someone that betrayed them?"  His eyes softened with a sigh.

"Milk?"

"Please."

"Me too," agreed Gideon, rising as though to give Nick some privacy, ducking into the fridge for a bit longer than is needed to fetch some milk, and continued taking his time retrieving two glasses from the overhead cabinet.

A tall, frosty glass was set down for Nick, who nodded his thanks and took a swig, and then looked into the glass, "2%?"

"I'm trying to cut back," grunted Gideon with a smile, patting his stomach.

"Since you've plied me with this delicious pie, I don't mind confiding in you.  Yes, I am in love with Judy Hopps. No, I am not jealous of her boyfriend 'Bo'," and took the final bite of his slice, "I'll get over it."

"Mama would smack a big wooden spoon under my tail whenever she caught me lying," Gideon said casually, to which Nick glanced up at the handle sticking out of the whipped cream tub, "Always said 'foxes got enough distrust from the rest of the world, they don't need it from each other'."  He finished up the rest of his own pie and stood to gather up the dishes.

"Okay, I'm jealous of Bo, but I will get over it."

"That ain't what I meant," Gideon said, sitting back down in a chair nearer to Nick, "I might've misspoken earlier and I'm sorry if I mislead you at all, but what I meant was you've let your guard down around her, Nick.  It's written all over your face, and I don't know if it's 'love', but it's makin' you do some dumb things, blinding you, and you can't afford that; neither can she. You said she earned your trust twice, Stretch, and that's unheard of for a fox, so I don't know what that does, but you gotta keep your wits about you, otherwise, 'eh…" he sat up and gestured vaguely, "you might do something really stupid."

"What did you put in that pie?  I feel like I'm tripping, or something," responded Nick.

"Hush up," snarled Gideon, but playfully, "you might have your street smarts but I've got my country wisdom, stuff you don't learn in the big city, stuff only us 'farmyard foxes' know about.  We have our own way of dealing with a whole lot of prey like you have your way of dealing with big predators. Now, I get they’re mean and scary because they can snap you half like a twig, but there's a power to prey in large numbers, and dealing with them is different because there are so many of them.  They're darn near everywhere and they hear darn near everything.

"That's why us foxes gotta stick together, Nick," he said, chair gently scraping as he scooted closer, reaching out a paw to grip his shoulder, "If we can't trust each  _ other _ , who  _ can _ we trust?"

_ He's not wrong _ , Nick considered, his eyes rolling up thoughtfully, if tiredly.

"Nick?" said Gideon, leaning in, his voice soft and comforting, "You okay, Nick?"  He smiled that simple farm boy smile, paw moving up from his shoulder to caress at his neck and throat.

"Well," replied Nick, "it's been a long, tiring day…"

"Don't go fading on me, Stretch," Gideon continued, his other paw reached out and touched the slender chest, tugging at the knot of his necktie to loosen it and drape it over Nick's shoulder, before both paws pulled open his new shirt to expose the creamy fur beneath.  He leaned in to rest his cheek upon Nick's chest, looking intently up at him, and then cupped his chin in a careful paw. Gideon's face was now nearer Nick's, feeling his breath on the muzzle, and then their lips touched, holding for one breath, pulled back for a gasp, and then held together once more for a second gasp, alternating between that and rhythmic counting of each caress of his chest.  It all might’ve been rather nice… if not for the dull pain that kept bugging the back of Nick’s head…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "HareBnB" is a Zootopian pun on "AirBnB".
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was weird...

_ He's pinching my nose, why is he pinching my nose? _ thought Nick, since thoughts -- thinking in general, actually -- came easier with each passing instant.  For example, the realization he was not sitting in a chair, but lying on the ground and Gideon was not tenderly caressing his chest but compressing his rib-cage in a most uncomfortable manner, counting off each time he did it.

"Darn it, Nick, you get back here right now!" shouted Gideon, who tilted Nick's chin back and clasped his nostrils before breathing into his mouth once, twice…

Nick gasped and coughed violently, and then gasped and coughed with quick, shallow breaths as he flailed on the ground, claws scraping across the kitchen linoleum.

"You're okay, Nick, you're okay!" Gideon declared, leaning over and pinning Nick to the floor in an attempt to calm him.

Calm he did, albeit after several thrashes beneath the heavier fox, eyes darting and then focusing in the dim light.  "That's a matter of opinion," muttered Nick as he took longer, deeper breaths, "What was in that pie?"

"The pie?  You took one bite of it and fell out of your chair!  I panicked and wasn't sure whether to call the ambulance or not, because it might've not gotten here in time," Gideon dreaded, the fear still fresh in his eyes (behind the welling tears).  Nick looked down at himself, paws assuring he was all there; as he sat up he buttoned his shirt and straightened his tie while a tense silence fell between the foxes. "Are… are you okay, Stretch?" Gideon finally asked, “Sittin’ up as you are.”

"Yeah,  _ umm…  _ how much of that conversation happened?" Nick asked after a moment of thought.

"There  _ wasn't _ much in the way of conversation, you went out after I told you about my 'hand-whipped cream' but I guess you're doing better, now," recounted the baker, chuckling nervously but visibly relieved as he stood up with a heavy sigh.  "Don't scare me like that; it's bad manners," huffed Gideon, holding out a paw to assist Nick to his feet, "I know my sofa ain't the  Ratz Carlton but it's gotta be better than a hospital bed."

Nick cleared his throat once he was upright.  "I don't know what got into me," he said, glancing at the 'Eat Your Blues' sitting on the kitchen table, and then to Gideon's slice, which also had a bite taken out of it.   _ It didn't affect him, _ he considered, _ I watched him cut that pie and he didn't have the idea to serve it until I got here, which itself was last-minute. _

An awkward silence returned between them, Gideon pivoting to gather up the remainder of the blueberry pie to toss it into the trash, thinking aloud, "Must be some bad berries.  Best get some sleep, we'll see if there're any other, ya'know,  _ symptoms _ ."

_ If he wanted to off me, he would've simply let me go, _ thought Nick.  "Some pretty bad berries; disagreeable food usually waits a few hours before giving the 'gurgles'," quipped Nick, closing the tub of whipped cream and putting it back in the fridge; he studied the big wooden spoon a moment before bringing it over.  "Mom used to smack me under the tail with something like this if she caught me lying," tested Nick, handing it to Gideon, who answered him with a quirked brow.

"She caught you lyin'?" he teased, "Ma wouldn't use her utensils for that, she had a plenty hard spank without 'em.  She always said, 'if a fox can't trust other foxes, who can they trust?'." With that, he left the dishes in the sink, "I'll wash 'em tomorrow after I make waffles."

"I can't believe I'm saying it, but no blueberries this time," Nick requested.

"I got all other kinds of produce I can use," chuckled Gideon, "I ain't a one-berry baker, there're plenty of exciting things I can try."

"Well," yawned Nick, stretching his arms over his head, "I think that's plenty of excitement for today, so I'm going to thoroughly brush my teeth, and then hit the hay."

"I can warm up a glass of milk for ya', that always helps me sleep."

"I'll pass, for now, thanks."

"A'ight; you can have the washroom first, jus’ through there," Gideon offered, pointing at an ajar door, "Connects to both rooms."  Indeed it did, as Nick found out, finishing up the barebones layout of the baker's apartment; upon entry, it was the living room with a couch, television set, and bookcase, after a hardwood foyer and immediate closet, and then the kitchen in the corner behind a load-bearing wall, while off in the back corner was Gideon's bedroom (the farther door on the other side of the couch, the nearer one was the washroom).  In the sanctity of the tiled enclosure, Nick closed both doors and got out his toiletries, ears swiveling towards the living room as he heard the sounds of simple machinery at work,  _ He must be folding out the bed _ , concluded the slender fox, opening up a zipper-locked baggie with a toothbrush held within.

_ Let's think this through, _ Nick postulated, kicking off his nightly ritual by disrobing and hanging up his nice shirt,  _ I take one bite of blueberry pie and go into a hallucinated conversation with Gideon.  Gideon didn't know I was coming until about two hours ago but does know I'm a cop; Judy saw to that, I'm sure.  Even if he did put psychotropic drugs in that pie, he wouldn't dare feed it to me and risk getting arrested. Whatever's in that pie isn't affecting him, so he might not know about it.  I'll investigate the Hopps farm tomorrow and tell Carrots as discreetly as possible, if there are any strange berries growing there, she would know. _  He was foaming at the mouth with lathered up toothpaste, jaw open wide to get the fangs way in the back before spitting and rinsing.  Down to his skivvies, Nick returned to the living room to find his sleeping space finished with sheets and a pillow, "Well now, maybe this  _ is _ the Ratz Carlton," he said with a smirk, "I've got my shirt hanging in there to smooth out."

"Fine by me," replied Gideon, "Not one for jammies?"

"I got my shorts, don't I?" Nick rebutted.

"Don't dress up on my account."  He was over at the front door with the main light switch and flicked it off.  The darkness cleared almost instantly for the foxes, who only needed the indirect moonlight from the window to traverse the room without their shins finding any furniture.

"It's a special occasion," said the taller fox with an air of playful pretense, pantomiming to straighten his tie.  The fold-out bed housed faults common to its ilk: a flat pillow and a horizontal bar between sagging parts. To Nick, it was comfortable enough, snuggling beneath musty sheets with a content grin,  _ It's no dresser drawer, but it'll do, _ he pondered, glancing up at Gideon.

"Want me to tuck you in, Stretch?"

"I think I can manage," and folded his paws behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as his host disappeared into the bedroom.  The light flicked on in the bathroom, followed soon by the telltale preparatory sounds for sleeping, and then the heavier fox climbing in bed to almost instantly fall asleep.   _ Like a rock, that one, _ chuckled Nick,  _ 'Special occasion', indeed.  Every bunny ever is in Bunnyburrow all next week, so there's -- undoubtedly -- a good deal of business for someone like Gideon, doubly so with everyone else skipping town.  Special occasion… _  His brow furrowed,  _ 'Special occasion'...? _  He then sprang up and stared at the fridge.   _ Whipped cream!  Gideon ate the pie but he didn't eat the whipped cream, yet; he stopped short of it. _  He considered if that was intentional, but wouldn't know until waffles tomorrow,  _ Whipped cream goes great on waffles, so I can watch his reaction to it. _  Nick slid off the bed and crept over to the kitchen, ears on alert for any waking signs from Gideon; at the sink, Nick studied the pile of dishes and hesitated to what he needed to do next.   _ If I fall this time, I won't have the kiss-of-life to save me, _ and then swiped the smallest bit of blueberry pie filling he could from a dish, steeling himself to dab it upon the tip of his tongue.

_ Mmh~, _ the slender fox savored, licking his lips and instantly regretting he couldn't properly enjoy such a heavenly treat.  He waited a moment and ran a trickle of water from the faucet onto his paws before rubbing his eyes. After yanking his ear and checking his pulse, he concluded that it was not the 'Eat Your Blues' which did him in.  Tentatively, he reached for the big wooden spoon and took an iota of the whipped white crowning it to bring it up to his tongue.

Eyelids grew heavy and knees weakened at a sway, the sink's adjacent window buckled away from him; dropping the spoon, Nick scrambled for the faucet to throw the handle back, cupping as much water in his joined paws so he can throw it on his face.  He gasped, bracing the sink with slow, deep breaths,  _ Definitely the whipped cream… _  He yanked and twisted both of his ears until he nearly yelped, assuring himself that he was not only standing but also conscious,  _ Okay, good, this is good, I'm still awake. _

"Speaking of," came a familiar voice behind him, "you've been up an awful long while and need some shut-eye."  Mortified, Nick spun around and nearly scurried onto the counter, eyeing a fully-clothed Gideon sitting on the other side of the table.  "Don't worry, Stretch, you're not dead, nor are you dyin'."

"I'm hallu-," Nick began, stopped to glance at the bedroom door and the unmistakable snoring beyond, and then whispered, "In that case, I'm hallucinating which considering the circumstances, isn't too much better.  By the way, why are you wearing my clothes, and how come they fit you?"

Indeed, Gideon was in Nick's green palm-frond shirt, which the stouter fox inspected, before adjusting the accompanying tie, "Look at me, aren't I a big-city fox, wearing fancy duds and everything.  Best you can figure, I'm a lingering side-effect of whatever was in that whipped cream, yeah?" he began, relaxing in the chair with an arm over the back, gesturing to the seat across from him, "Why don't you sit down, give us a chance to chat."

"Because that would make me crazy."

"Crazy like a fox?"

"No, just crazy," asserted Nick, "I will heed reason and get to bed, though, now that I've discovered the suspicious whipped cream.  There isn't anything more I can do about it now, not with Gideon… the  _ real  _ Gideon… soundly snoozing."  He walked around the table, giving that side of it a wide berth, not even turning his head to address it, "And don't follow me."  After a moment of silence, and half-climbing into the fold-out bed, Nick looked over his shoulder at the empty chair, watching it as he tucked himself back in.   _ Must be almost midnight, by now…  _ he thought, loosing a heavy sigh as his head lay on the pillow and then turned to his stomach so that the horizontal bar beneath the mattress wasn't as noticeable,  _ Don't come too soon, 'Tomorrow', I still need my beauty sleep. _

 

* * *

 

'Tomorrow' came in its own time with a steely-gray glare spilling through the living room onto a motionless fox.  When the light was a bit more golden, Nick stirred and slowly recalled his current location,  _ Oh right, fold-out bed, _ he realized, going through the full motion of exiting sleep into the waking realm, eventually stretching his arms while standing upright.  After another yawn, he smacked his lips and toddled over to the bathroom, brain bogged down with thoughts of the prior night. Stumbling into the dim light from an overhead window, he looked at a suds-upped Gideon sitting in the bathtub, who nearly jumped from his stool and visibly bit down a scream as he kept his back pinned to the tile wall; Nick continued to the sink and washed his face.   _ A waking dream, are we? _ Nick assumed, using his toothbrush for a quick breath refresher.

Short shallow breaths filled the void of greeting or conversation before Gideon cleared his throat and mumbled, "G’morning, Nick."

"Yep, it certainly is," responded Nick, reaching into his suitcase and pulling out a larger brush to smooth out his fur, doing his best to sound sincere, "Sleep well, all things considered?"

"Well, sure, still a bit shook after what happened but no worse for the wear," he hastily replied, blues eyes never leaving Nick for an instant as he warily continued scrubbing.  "So,  _ uhh _ , yep, up and about, tha's good."

"Today's the day, my dear Dawson, that we delve into 'The Mystery of the Suspicious Whipped Cream'," he said, examining himself in the mirror before dropping his drawers to change into some fresh clothes.

Gideon groaned his uncertainty as to which concern he should first address, only to stumble about with mostly incoherent stutters.

Nick turned to face him, paws on his hips, and then closed the few steps between them to squat down in that familiar, condescending posture of his, "What… does this make you uncomfortable?  It's nothing you haven't seen before, and this doesn't even hit my 'Top-10' of awkward situations."

Gideon's ears were back with wide eyes and a worried frown, but then quickly turned his head to attempt indifference, "I didn't realize we were so familiar with one another, is all," he murmured, clumsily attempting to scrub his tail.

A bubble popped on the tip of Nick's nose with cascading realizations, including the more important  _ This is the real Gideon, not a hallucination or a dream. _  His blood ran cold while his fur, skin, and bones each attempted to flee in different directions.

"So…" began Gideon, turning his head back around to face Nick and settle back onto his stool (who snapped to a relaxed posture, casually fishing through his suitcase for undergarments), "what  _ is _ on your 'Top-10'?"

The slender fox's mouth smirked with all the nonchalance he could muster, pulling out a pair of clean boxers to begin dressing, "Well, as I'm sure you've heard from Judy, the Otterton Case brought us to a nudists' colony.  One walk through there and you've got numbers three through six, easily."

" _ Hah! _ " gasped Gideon, "She did  _ not _ say it was a nudey camp!" and loosed a hearty laugh, giving the side of the tub a whack with his scrub brush, Nick laughing along as he pulled out some clean pants to continue dressing.  "All this time I thought there was some…  _ hippy farm _ in the middle of Zootopia when she said 'naturalist club'.  Hoo-boy, I'm gonna have a fun time with  _ that _ one!"

"Go easy on our cottontail, Bangs, she handled it like a champ," he chuckled, buttoning up his shirt in the mirror to avoid looking at the still bathing fox, especially when he utilized the low shower head to rinse himself off.  By the time Gideon was standing to reach for a towel, still chuckling to himself, Nick was already exiting and fixing his tie. The handheld fur-dryer hummed beyond the (closed) bathroom door as Nick went about folding the bed back up, if anything, to keep himself occupied.  The heavy footsteps and residual merriment moved into the bedroom, another relieved sigh leaving Nick's mouth that his host decided not to walk by in a towel.  _ Great way to start things off, _ brooded Nick, whipping out his phone to check up on the daily news,  _ at least there's decent cell service. _

In a matter of minutes, Gideon was walking to the kitchen in a light-colored flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and a pair of ragged denim jeans.  Rolling off the sofa, Nick followed to study the baker, who walked right past the sink (and the dirty dishes therein) to reach under the counter for his waffle iron, also pulling out a mixing bowl, whisk, spatula, eggs, milk, flour… Nick blinked and lost track of everything Gideon retrieved; he was already cradling the mixing bowl to whip the creamy batter and accumulated a small pile of used dishes.

After pouring the first soon-to-be waffle on the hot waffle iron, he set the bowl down and reached into the sink to pull out the big wooden spoon from the night before, smirking, "Had yerself a late-night lick, Basil of Baker Street?" he said, showing the clearly disturbed whipped cream at the scoop-end of the utensil, "Must've been investigative work for 'The Mystery of the Suspicious Whipped Cream'."

Nick flinched, but relented, "Alright, you caught me."   _ He's already seen me naked, after all, can't get much more exposed than that, and if shenanigans were really going down in Bunnytown I don't have time to beat around the bush.  I was hoping to get away from work this far out from Zootopia, but the ZPD never really rests, does it, _ he thought, turning a chair around to straddle it, arms folded on the back as he leaned forward.  "I don't think it was the blueberries that nearly knocked me out last night; I think it was the whipped cream and whatever’s in it is some of the most potent stuff I’ve ever had the misfortune to sample.  Now, why do  _ you  _ have a vat of it?"

Gideon froze in remembering that he hosted an officer of Zootopia's Finest; the wooden spoon slipping from his grip and clattering in the sink to kick him out of his stunned state.  "That… this sounds serious, should I sit down?" he asked, fingers twiddling under a severe frown.

"You should keep an eye on the waffles so they don't burn," replied Nick, sparing a smug grin at the corner of his lips.

Gideon's response was both informative and entertaining, especially when he spun about and addressed the waffle iron as though it were an active bomb, sniffing at it intently, "Okay, not burning," he reported with a sharp breath.

Pulling out a chair, Gideon sat heavily across the table from Nick and folded his paws, looking like a suspect at an interrogation; to which Nick glanced calmly and said, "Exhale, Bangs, exhale."

The stouter fox obeyed, strong paws wringing together in tangible nervousness.  "Okay," began Gideon, "about a month ago, Tad -- he owns the pawn shop a few blocks over -- gave me the idea to host a pie-eating contest for the TBR, said it'd be great publicity for my shop and would, ya'know, shine me in a good light to all the visiting rabbits.  According to him, he already got the 'go-ahead' from the organizers for it, only needed the pies to make it real. I was tickled pink to help because goodness knows, I wouldn't mind the extra business, and I could make littler pies, a good two or three for each normal pie; I made a hundred in that time, no problem, put 'em all in cold storage."

"And the vat of whipped cream?"

"I'm getting to that," assured Gideon, but his nostrils flared as he sniffed and stood to tend the waffle iron.

This gave Nick a chance to chew on some of the details,  _ So, who's this 'Tad' character, owner of the pawn shop a few blocks over? _

"There, gold-and-crispy," said Gideon, the waffle coming off as easily as a lid from a box, which he set on a plate and put a cover over to keep warm, before spraying the griddle and pouring on another waffle.  He seemed much more relaxed when he sat back down. "Lessee… right, the vat of whipped cream. Well, Tad and I were talking about what kind of pies they should be, if all the same or what, and we started laughing about how a  _ proper  _ pie-eating contest should be as messy as it can be, right?  So, he suggested I whip up some of my 'famous hand-whipped cream' for the contest.  Now, I'm pretty proud of that whipped cream," he said, lifting an arm and flexing it, patting the bicep that bulged under his pelt, "Built that up after years of whipping cream and kneading dough," and then flexed his other arm, "And for the other side, too."

"Anyway," insisted Nick.

"Anyway," agreed Gideon, "so I got this vat of whipped cream sitting in cold storage with a bunch of li'l pies because Tad said that the contest is supposed to be early in the week and pies don't keep forever, neither does whipped cream.  But I was so  _ sure _ that all the ingredients were good, and that the fridge was workin’ because this could be such a big  _ thing  _ for me, y’know?  I wanted ev’rything to go off without a single hitch, right?”  His speech and gesticulations were more and more frantic as he spoke until he sunk his head to touch the table, paws gripping his skull with a mournful groan, "And I jus' know it's all probably bad by now…  You only had a li'l bit, and look at what happened," he fretted, lifting his head in a mixture of lament and apology, eyes misting up. "Imagine what'll happen to a bunch o' bunnies if they have this rotten whipped cream."

"First," countered Nick, holding a single finger in the air, "if the whipped cream went bad, we'd have smelled it before we tasted it.  Second," he continued, another finger in the air, "the worst thing it could've done if it  _ did _ go bad was cause nausea or vomiting, not hallu- I mean… a  _ blackout _ .  Third," the final finger of indication, waggling them in the air but he didn't necessarily have a third point, he only wanted to draw attention away from his slip-of-the-tongue, "So far as we know, I'm the only mammal to ingest that stuff, so the pie-eating contest can go on without it, and none the wiser."

"I guess so..." Gideon said with a throat-clearing grunt, sitting up gradually, "I mean, he  _ did _ say it was better if it were a surprise, so there's no major loss if we go without it, because no one will know, right?"

_ 'A surprise', huh? _ pondered Nick, adopting an introspective posture to provide Gideon an opportunity to rise from his chair and inspect the waffle iron, if anything, to calm himself.   _ If the whipped cream  _ was _ tampered with, when did it happen and why didn't Gideon notice? _

"Years of whippin', ya'know," reiterated a grinning Gideon, sitting adjacent to Nick and rolling back the sleeve of his green palm-frond button-up to flex his arm.  Nick's blood ran cold for the second time that day, eyes darting from one Gideon to the other.

The real Gideon loosed a muffled expletive as a burnt smell rose into the air, "Gosh, sorry Nick," he said, taking out a wooden spatula and unplugging the iron to scrape it off, "You can go ahead and have the good one while I get this stupid thing cleaned off…"

"No, no, it's okay, I'll wait," the taller fox managed.

"That should give us a few minutes," the other Gideon said, putting his elbow on the table with his palm supporting a cheek, "So, Basil, how could Tricky Tad slip a mickey into something that an honest-to-a-fault guy, like Gideon over here, will spend  _ hours  _ making a few pints at a time?"

Nick didn't answer immediately, even biting his bottom lip to keep from saying anything aloud,  _ Well, Dawson, it doesn't show up in whipped cream, so it's either colorless or off-white, and something that won't activate until it's thoroughly mixed, _ he pondered.

"It'd need more than a thorough mixing to 'activate'," snarked 'Dawson', "Gideon would taste every batch he made to check its quality."

_ So it activates with cold because the whipped cream needs refrigeration to stay good. _

"Really, you're sticking with 'activate'?  What is this, alchemy? Some magical elixir that's stirred seven times counterclockwise under a new moon?"

_ …No, of course not; it's a substance that's heavier than the cream and settles at the bottom, making it safe to drink when delivered.  Whipping the cream mixes it in and then sets when refrigerated so it won't settle at the bottom again. _

"Now  _ there's _ some science."

_ It must be something that Gideon built up a resistance to, something here in Bunnyburrow, otherwise, he'd black out as soon as he tasted it.  By the time he finishes with each batch, the minuscule amount would've dispersed harmlessly throughout his system, especially with all the activity of whipping cream and that heavyset body of his.  Even at the end of the day, he could hardly distinguish its effects from fatigue. _

"A city-slicker like yerself, though…"

_ Needs only a dollop and it's lights out.  Clearly, this is designed to hurt a whole lot of rabbits for the TBR festival next week. _

"Not if a bunch of bunnies are falling unconscious after the first round."

_ I need to get a sample of that whipped cream to a lab and run some tests, find out what's in it. _

"You ain't in forensics, Nick, and barely a beat cop; your schtick is sniffing out Howler Dens."

_ Hey _ , Nick furrowed his brow in frustration,  _ I do as well a job as any other cop on the force, I can't help it that I have some kind of hypersensitivity to… Night Howler pollen… _ his brow furrowed deeper with introspection,  _ Catatonic state and hallucinations… _

Dawson's paws spread in the most obnoxiously condescending jazz-hands and exaggerated smile, with a painfully vibrant overhead rainbow arched between his palms.

_ Jiminy Cricket, is this what it's like talking to me? _

"Yes, one-hundred percent," and he was gone, last word and all.

Gideon -- the  _ real _ Gideon -- turned around soon after, bringing about the largest, crispiest waffles Nick ever laid his eyes upon.  His mood was lighter as he set the table with utensils and waffle-spreads, clearly relieved he wasn't being brought in for attempted murder or anything of the sort.   _ There were some loose ends in that conversation, _ Nick realized, standing to turn his chair right-way forward and sitting once again,  _ but he doesn't seem curious or aware of them.  Hope that doesn't come back to bite me.  _ As promised, Gideon washed the dishes from the prior night after a waffle breakfast,  _ I'd stay here a week if it meant I get more of those waffles, _ mused Nick, slumping contentedly in his chair with a muffled belch, wondering if he could convince the pastry chef to cook them again tomorrow morning,  _ This time with blueberries. _

"Well, sir," began the stouter fox in a comfortable farm boy drawl, looking over his shoulder, "that's the finest compliment I could think to get."  He was elbows-deep in suds as he scrubbed the dishes clean, an adjacent window opened so the steam could escape without hindrance. Nick sat up when the sink drained as Gideon grabbed a towel to dry off his paws, "Oh, good, I was worried I'd have to give mouth-to-mouth again," he smirked.

"Only good-night kisses on the first date," tsk-tsked the taller fox, standing upright, "But if you keep making food like that, I might move in."

"Going a bit fast there, Stretch, we only met last night."

"You're right," Nick rubbed his chin, "the commute would be terrible."

"Besides, we wouldn't want to steal Judy's thunder from introducing you to Bo," chuckled Gideon.

"But then we could go on double-dates, and all those fun, modern things couples are doing these days."

"Sure, with a two-hundred-mile, long-distance relationship," he said, heading over to the door to grab up his keys from a bowl.

"Oh, that pesky geographical distance," Nick said with a dismissive wave of his paw as he followed the stouter fox outside, "Anything I should know about Bo?"

"That'd spoil the surprise."

"I've had my fair share of surprises this weekend, Bangs; I could do with a bit of foresight."

"Right, right…" mumbled Gideon, walking around to the driver's door of his van, "But if Judy tells you anything that sounds surprising, you'd best act surprised."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," promised Nick.

In the van, each pulled out a pair of sunglasses, for the drive to the Hopps Farm lead them towards the glare of a new dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basil of Baker Street and Dawson are both references to characters from "The Great Mouse Detective" movie and he is the Sherlock Holmes archetype for this Zootopian story, complete with the flippant "No kidding, Basil" that comes along with it (with varying verbiage vulgarity). Going forward, it will be assumed that all Disney movies exist in the Zootopia world/universe in some capacity, whether the animal characters themselves, some reference to them, or as a generic work of fiction to reflect those stories without animal/mammal characters.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing, just keep at what you're doing!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

A full sun sat above its hill-jagged horizon when the foxes arrived at the farm Judy grew up on; a farm which words did no justice.  Nick doffed his sunglasses to stare at the cresting tracts of land that seemed to blanket the landscape beyond where eyes could see. Rolling down the window and leaning his head out, the city-slicker donned his shades once more to get a proper glimpse of the dew-laden crops in the early morning light.  "Is  _ all _ of this the Hopps Farm?" he asked to no one in particular, the sign  HOPPS FARM: Hopp on in! was clear enough, after all.  Surrounded by skyscrapers most his life, Nick could hardly believe such an open place existed (that wasn’t covered in sand or snow), much less owned by a single family.

"It's one of 'em," answered Gideon, calm as could be while enjoying the other fox's awe.  To further answer Nick's incredulity, "The Hopps family is very,  _ very _ big and one of the oldest in the Tri-Burrow area.  Good chance most of the bunnies coming this week is a Hopps."

"I didn't know Judy came from rabbit nobility," said Nick, smirking as best he could,  _ This makes sense to someone, I'm sure. _

"Well, I wouldn't say  _ that _ ," laughed Gideon, "Bein' a 'noble' means there's some kind of… what's the word… exclusivity?  But with bunnies, they include ev'ryone."

"Meaning…?"

"I guess you didn't know this, but in the Bunnyburrow -- prob'ly the whole Tri-Burrow area, I can't say for sure -- bunnies don't have a 'family name' like other mammals, they have a 'farm name', meaning the farm they're from; some call it a 'farmily'.  Judy is from the 'Hopps Farm', so she's a 'Hopps'. She's Stu-and-Bonnie's daughter though, I  _ do _ know that."

"Where are the other Hopps Farms, pray tell?"

"Well, there's one in the next burrow over, and I hear there's a 'Hopps Farm' in Zootopia itself; I think they do most of the food processing, though, less the growing."

"I'm going into this whole thing  _ woefully _ under-prepared," Nick realized while pulling out his phone, "Keep talking, I have cramming to do."

"You  _ can't _ be serious," Gideon protested, "tha's  _ hundreds _ of years of rabbit history to go through and we're  _ already _ passing the radishes, we'll be at the farmhouse any minute."

"You drive, I'll browse," Nick assured, "I don't need to know  _ every _ thing, only the stuff that'll make me look informed."  Gideon tried to lean in and read over Nick's shoulder, only to get shooed, "Eyes on the road, Bangs, we're here to make a good impression, not drive through their crops."

" _ You're _ here to make a good impression,  _ I'm _ here on business."

"Not simply dropping me off to be on your merry way?" Nick asked, flicking an ear in the stouter fox's direction.

"Nope!  I actually have a thing in need of attendin' over at the Hoppses'," he said, smiling smugly, "Me and Stu are going over next year's crops.  He's actually bringing me in to get my input, ask me what I think would make for good baking. It's only for a small spot of land out in a corner of their property, but still!"  He seemed barely able to contain his joy.

"Wow," Nick said, sparing precious seconds from his cramming to address Gideon, "That's… unheard of.  They trust you that much with their produce?"

"I know, right!" he said, taking a breath to collect himself, "I'm thinking boysenberries… or  _ mangoes _ !  I haven't done anything with taro; I hear it's pretty good."

"Let's be realistic, Bangs."

"Yeah, you're right.  I should stick with boysenberries and go from there."

"Huh…" said Nick, eyes scanning the screen of his phone, "Quick question: what's the relationship between hares and rabbits in Bunnyburrow?"

" _ Umm… _ "

"C'mon, Bangs, we're almost to the farmhouse and if you can help me avoid a  _ faux pas _ , I'd really appreciate it~" Nick insisted in a sing-song tone.

"Well…" he contemplated, shifting about awkwardly in his seat, glancing to Nick and then the road, "Okay, summ'rized as best I can, bunnies are in the Burrow proper and hares stick to the boondocks.  Their big family name is 'Briar', and there aren't a lot of 'em that come down from the hills. That's all I know. Now this is  _ important _ , Stretch, Judy's boyfriend is 'Bo Briar', but he ain't a hare, he's a bunny, and it's kind of a sore spot to bring up, but you won't ever see it from him; so long as you don't mention his ears, those he  _ is _ sensitive about."

_ He must have particularly small or oddly shaped ears _ , "See, this is important information to know," said Nick, putting his phone away as they came to a stop.  "Is there any time to find out what happened between the hares and the rabbits?"

"No, 'fraid not," said Gideon, killing the engine, "that's something you'll hafta find out for yerself." He stepped out of the van carrying a paper bag that was stashed between the seats; Nick saw it there the night before, but it didn't occur to him that it was the source of the cinnamon smell until that moment.

"Giddy!  Giddy!" came the joined voices of a few young rabbits.  Inside the yard surrounding the farmhouse were at least a dozen-and-a-half bunnies pumping water into buckets and braiding twine together into larger ropes, all stopping and then charging the rotund fox as he came in through the front gate.  Their noses twitched as they barricaded his approach, he craning his neck to check for…  _ some _ thing, before he leaned in and pulled out that mysterious brown paper bag.  "Coast’s clear, no sign of your parents but eat 'em quiet like," he said, "Only one each, okay?"  Nick looked as best he could to find that the little bunnies were scooping out cookies only big enough to fit in their palm and those at the front were, much to his surprise, handing out the cookies to those behind them.  It wasn't until the crowd dispersed that the distributors, which seemed the more mature, had their own cookies and bid their gratitude to the pastry chef.

"'Giddy', huh?" said Nick with a smirk, stalling when Gideon tossed him the brown paper bag crumpled into a ball.

"Trash can’s on your right," he chuckled, "Cinnamon oatmeal raisin cookies.  Kids love 'em. I brought some last night but their parents don't like me handing 'em out all freely like, so I gotta be discreet about it."

Nick tossed the ball of trash into the aforementioned can and smirked at Gideon as he walked towards the front porch,  _ Clever fox.  He's not bunnified; he's ingratiated himself to one of the oldest rabbit families in the Burrow.  Look at that saunter, it's the same as when he walks through his living room. Even so, they all seemed very happy to see him but unlike every other time bunnies greet, they took great pains to not touch his arms or paws.  I understand a… “space issue” but there’s still some distance to do between rabbits and foxes, ‘eh? _  Nick was on his phone again, typing away as he followed aside Gideon.

"Last minute notes, Stretch?"

"Only some communication I should've done on the way here," Nick said as he sent a text message.

"That won't do you any good," came a voice from the patio, "Jude  _ never _ carries her phone with her in the fields.  Drives her mother and me  _ crazy _ ."  It was none other than Stu, the Hopps patriarch, stepping out from behind the screen door to greet the foxes on his farm, "You boys take the scenic route on your way here?  Can't say I blame you, the crops down on the road are some of the best this season. Lucky us, huh? Good for business and the view!" He descended from the patio and shook paws with Nick first, and then Gideon, "Shame we couldn't properly catch up last night, or right now, for that matter; we've been busier than bees coming up to the TBR, so we need to get this crop stuff finished quickly.  C'mon inside, Gid, Bonnie's got the coffee on. Nick, you'll find Judy and Bo around back, empty field with the 'turnip' signs, look for flying dirt, can't miss 'em."

"I’m afraid I’m not up on farmyard euphemisms, but 'flying dirt'?" asked Nick.

Stu glanced over his shoulder (presumably to check if Bonnie could see him) before he popped a small cookie into his mouth (presumably palmed when he shook paws with Gideon), which he currently finished before answering.  "Oh, that's right, you don't know about Bo, yet. Well, the kid's the finest plower and rock-digger the Hoppses ever knew; why, our crops see a four percent increase with him around! They're a great team for the larger boulders, he and Judy, been working on a real tough one since dawn, so they should still be at it."

"In that case, I'll leave you two fine gents to your business and go see how they're coming along," Nick said, tapping a single salute to his brow for the both of them on his way around back.  He wished he could step inside for a bit of that coffee, it smelled like Bonnie really knew how to brew a bean, but he couldn't miss out on such an opportunity to see Bo in action and measure him up.   _ Catch 'em when they're in deep and least suspecting it, _ he speculated with a smug expression, but then quickly looked around for any lingering hallucinations and straightened his tie.

He caught sight of Judy crouched and staring intently at the ground but as he approached it was obvious her attention was upon a rock; soon it was clear that the rock was inside a recently excavated hole.  To the fox's mischievous delight, he realized that Judy's ears were not yet swiveled back,  _ Have I finally the chance to sneak up on our dear Officer Fluff? _

"Okay, on 3, ready?" he heard her say, and then saw the rock begin to wiggle, (so perhaps not the best time for a jump-scare), "1… 2… 3!" and with a brutish grunt, what was, as Stu predicted, a sizeable boulder launched from the hole to clear the ring of upturned dirt and land with a decisive thud.  Nick reeled and cringed at the sight, for the hunk of stone was nearly half his height, and sounded heavy enough to crush him flat without a second thought; not something anyone would want so airborne and so nearby. He approached the whooping Judy, whose ears finally swiveled about and sprung high at his presence.  "Nick!" she exclaimed, stepping into the hole and reaching down with both paws, sparing the fox as many a glance over her shoulder as she could, "I'd like you to meet..." she grunted while pulling him out, "Bo!"

Nick's poor heart could hardly handle any more surprises in so short a span, as what she pulled out from the ground was, without exaggeration, the largest rabbit Nick had ever the happenstance to encounter.  Bo staggered to his feet and gripped his knees, both bunnies covered in dirt (he more so) as he heaved and huffed to catch his breath. Standing upright and facing Judy, the rabbit's smiling eyes were nearly level with Nick's nose, while the tips of his notably (and disproportionately) small ears reached almost as high as the fox's own ear tips (which, for varying reasons, were also up).  It was not only the height of the rabbit disturbing Nick, but the bulky physique which better fit a tiger or water buffalo.

"I tell you h'wat, that was more trouble than trusting a fo-" he began, the triumphantly gleeful smile on his face fell fast as he realized who, or rather what, 'Nick' was.  Nick heard the colloquialism "More trouble than trusting a fox" plenty, and behind his façade of disapproval he savored the blatant internal writhing of Bo; he could imagine that the rabbit's one thought in the entire world was to return to the hole he dug and pull the boulder back over him.

How easy it would be for an experienced hustler -- like Nick -- to lead the meat headed bunny along like a balloon on a string.   _ But then there's Judy to consider, _ considered Nick, noting her subtle-but-growing dismay,  _ It would absolutely crush her to see that happen to him.  To be fair, he seems genuinely remorseful for that slip-of-the-tongue, so there might be some salvaging of all this. _  "A false positive, I agree," Nick interrupted, but with the half-second eternity of Bo's hanging syllable, there wasn't much to interrupt.  He pivoted to gesture at the boulder with a congenial smile, "That was no small feat, the thing must weigh half-a-ton, but what happens to it now that it's out of the ground?"

Bo seemed at a loss, so Judy thankfully kept things along, first by mouthing a quiet "Thank you" to Nick before punching Bo's side (which was little more than a bumping, judging by his reaction).  "Oh! Right, well," he began, clearing his throat and rubbing the nape of his substantially dirty neck, "Once it's out, it needs moving, right? No point in digging it up only to sit there. So, we call out some of Judy's siblings, they have their poles and carry it out to the road."

"There's someone with a bigger truck that comes by to haul it off to the quarry," continued Judy, giving Bo a reprieve from all the attention, "they’re the mammal to call for that sort of thing."

"Splendid," said Nick, still smugly smiling as he extended his paw to the larger of the two rabbits, "I don't think we've been properly introduced.  I'm Nick, Nick Wilde."

"It's an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Wilde, it really is.  I'm Bo Briar," he said with a relieved grin and taking the fox's paw in both of his (after clapping them clean to the best of his ability, of course).  It was obvious that those mitts could crush tree branches in their grip but he held Nick's paw with no more pressure than if a strip of linen draped on his palm.  "I'm so sorry about what I said, it jus' kinda…  _ slipped out _ .  I didn't mean anything by it, honest."

"Not at all, Bo, and  _ please _ , call me 'Nick'; 'Mr. Wilde's my dad," he said with a nudge of his elbow,  _ That should put him back at ease.  Honestly, I'm not sure what I'd do with a rabbit that could break me over his knee.  He's strong, sure, but the attention he'd attract… hardly something a discerning fox needs.  Besides, he already thinks the world of me, I'm sure Judy saw to that.  _  As predicted, Bo loosed a hearty, if modest, laugh, perhaps more to release whatever tension he still held from not only almost besmirching himself but, by proxy, Judy's judge of character.  He still led Bo along, but only to bring him back to the comfortable, confident rabbit he saw prior to the  _ faux pas _ ; that was likely the rabbit Judy fell for, and diminishing him would be the most grievous thing Nick could think to do.

Judy used the underside of her shirt to clean off her paws before putting two fingers to her mouth and blowing a high, shrill whistle.  Nick's ears flicked towards the house as he heard a rhythmic, enunciated "Hup, hup, hup!" with the pitter-patter of a dozen tiny feet, coming with the peculiar clatter of wood.  He took a step back as a line of seven young rabbits marched double-time, holding between them two long wooden poles and four more of about half the length, with the smallest toting coils of rope.  He recognized some of these small bunnies as the ones in the yard when he arrived, which meant the ropes were finished not minutes before.  _ This place is so hyper-specialized it's unnerving, _ pondered Nick, watching fluid movements of lashing a wooden frame so that the two, longest poles were wedged parallel into the dirt beneath the boulder, with two of the half-sized on top of and perpendicular, similarly underneath the boulder.

The smallest barked out commands, but it seemed more like timing cues than instructions.  The final pair of poles were lashed beneath the perpendicular pair so that they were parallel to the longest set; when it was all said and done with everyone in their places, it was something of a palanquin that six smallish rabbits could hoist, topped by the seventh.  "Great work, guys," beamed Judy, and in a motley chorus, her brothers and sisters replied, "Seeya later Judy! Bye, Bo!" and one even said, "Hi, Nick!" and off they went, "hup-ing" to the directions of the smallest riding the boulder.

"How long did it take to practice that?" asked Nick, the three of them walking back to the house.

"It took them about a week to get the frame secure and another week for the timing," she explained, "Luckily, no one was hurt during the practice runs."

"A whole two weeks?"

"It was during the school year, so they could only practice after class," Bo said in absolute sincerity.

"Oh yes, of course," he relented, pitying the missed nuance.  Nick sidelong-glanced at Bo and then cleared his throat, springing Judy's ears like sails in a tailwind.

"Got a cough, Slick?" she asked.

"Only an itch," said Nick, and exchanged knowing glances with Judy.

When rumors pop up about a new Howler Den, it's Judy and Nick on the case.  Nick's street-smarts and sharp nose, along with Judy's keen hearing and low profile, lead the ZPD to three busts in the last year alone; none too shabby for a few rookie cops.  They developed a code to signal one another when they suspect Night Howler pollen activity without alerting anyone else, and currently, Nick cleared his throat in a very specific manner to express his suspicions.  The response of "Only an itch" simply means he doesn't have concrete evidence, yet.

"By the way," he continued, addressing them both, "I heard from Gideon about his pie-eating contest.  Must be the first time a fox is hosting an event at the TBR." Judy's eyes went wide in the knowledge that her partner never threw around idle thoughts when it came to their signals.

"And I am  _ pumped _ !" Bo exclaimed, "Normally, I don't touch pies, but the contest is only an hour before the tractor pull, so I can carb cycle no problem."

"He's actually going to pull the tractor," Judy said.

"Okay, great.  Why?" asked the fox, numerous questions buzzing around his brain and not nearly enough time to ask them all.

"Training!" said Bo, "I've only got three more pounds before I qualify."

The group stopped as Nick touched his temples, "I'm missing something.  Qualify for what?"

"The Mammalian Martial Arts circuit, of course, I'll be the first bunny ever to get in," boasted the large rabbit.

"Aiming for the lightweight division?" Nick said with a smirk.

"I wish!  No, I can only get into the strawweight class (that's five down from lightweight) but still  _ three pounds _ above my current, plateauing weight."  Nick cleared his throat again, but Judy knew this wasn't a secret signal; this was the fox catching his own breath.  She grinned that Bo got one over Nick without trying. "I can't go into the ring as a big, fat bunny, though, I need to pack it on and build it up!" he raised his arms and flexed everything from elbow-to-elbow, to which Nick feigned a moderately impressed expression.

_ And here I thought there were only three weight classes, _ "Well, you two are certainly made for each other, breaking the rabbit mold in your own, unique ways."

"Shucks, Nick, that's awful kind of you to say," Bo beamed, looking to Judy as she leaned into him, "I'll even be moving to Zootopia as soon as I qualify, and then we're moving in together."

 

* * *

 

"Ohh," said Nick, his finest performance yet, "Going all the way?  I wish you both the best of luck. Now, I'm sure we've dallied enough and you two still need to wash off.  Let's go find a hose, I doubt Mrs. Hopps would appreciate all that dirt you'd track in."

Judy, unlike Bo and most of Zootopia, knew when Nick put on a face; she saw plenty.  His current was like the many he used to get into places he shouldn't be or convince others that they enjoyed his company when they actually didn't, yet it was also like the face he used to hide his intentions.  Her heart sank, yet suddenly bolstered back up when she felt Bo's arm around her shoulders to guide her along, "C'mon, slowpoke, or that fox is gonna beat us to the house!" It seems they were racing over the empty field back to the fence, but she couldn't recall when the race began, only that they were running, and from Judy's perspective, Nick ran from her.

The fox was almost to the fence when he intentionally slowed, a red flag if ever there was one, even though Bo urged her on to overtake and win the race.  With a mighty bound, the two rabbits sprung nimbly over the picket fence… while Nick ducked behind it. It was too late and the trap sprung, a line of readied bunny children stepping on the hose to build up the pressure, and letting fly a torrent of water as Judy and Bo cleared the fence.  With the fox's height, he’d seen it at the last minute and reacted appropriately. As for the older rabbits, they couldn't stick the landing and so fell upon soft grass, all while the hose kept spraying to the cheers and laughter of her siblings.

"Judy, Mom says you took too long talking, so we were t'come out and get you," said one of her younger sisters.

"Yeah, but she also, she also said you weren't t'come in all dirty and stuff," said a younger brother.

"That tricky fox called for a race after he started running!" laughed Bo, standing and helping Judy to her feet, "Some would call that 'cheating'."

"How  _ else _ could I get you two lovebirds back to the house?" declared a smirking Nick as he leaned on the fence (but then withdrew his paw because it was damp).

"We saw Mr. Wilde running up, so we got the hose!" said another younger brother.

"But we're not supposed t'spray  _ him _ , 'cause he's a guest," said another younger sister.

"Finally," said a voice from on high, about three feet off the ground and hanging out a window, "the both of you, change into some dry clothes, breakfast is almost ready.  Come around to the patio, I'll bring you some towels. Nick, sweetie, it's great to see you again," Bonnie greeted, and then withdrew back inside.

Judy and Bo shook water from their fur as Nick sauntered to the gate and let himself in, the younger rabbits running to the front at the promise of breakfast.  He had that air about him, that sure-of-everything, untouchable air of when she first saw him, "Better hustle, you two, wouldn't want to keep the family waiting."

_ Oh, Nick… _ thought Judy.

Gideon sat in the porch swing with a mug of coffee, idly rocking to-and-fro, chatting with a towel-pile adjacent Bonnie; the motherly rabbit rose up to address the three of them but paused and descended the steps to meet them on the grass, instead.  "I saw the boulder as it ran by, the thing was  _ enormous _ ," she said in a sweet tone, handing out the towels to each of the rabbits.  Gideon wasn't far behind, handing off the mug to Nick.

"Don't worry, I didn't drink any; can't stand the stuff," he said to the other fox's questioning glance.

"Bo, you get to the outdoor shower first; Judy, you don't mind waiting, do you?" instructed Bonnie, already ushering the larger rabbit towards a shed jutting out from the side of the house.  Judy, a bit taken aback, shook her head in agreement but it seemed her mother already accepted some implied compliance, and instead turned to Gideon to solicit his aid, "Gideon, dear, could you help with the water boiler?  The hot water spigot is sticking again."

"I could help with that, Bonnie," offered Bo, draping the towel around his neck.

"Oh, you're a sweetheart, but the boiler's around the corner from the shower shed, you know that.  I want you cleaned up ASAP, so you head off and we'll go to the boiler," insisted Bonnie, "it'll be quicker that way."  By some unknown strength of will, Bonnie was guiding the farm boys away from Nick and Judy until it seemed like they were the only living souls for miles.  Nick glanced back to a nearby planter and had himself a seat on the knee-high brick wall; Judy joined him.

"Moms, right?" she commented.

"Yep," said Nick, thoughtfully.  He sniffed the coffee and then sipped it, made a delighted noise at the taste, and drank a bit more, "She makes amazing coffee, though."  He handed the mug off to a towel-shawled Judy as he folded his paws to lean forward, arms resting at his knees.

The early-to-mid morning light and sounds covered the silence between them as she sipped to warm her bones.  "I owe you an explanation, Nick."

"You don't need to," he said, looking to his partner and friend.

"I want to," she replied, looking up at him, “and don’t feign indifference; you’re intrigued by him, I could see it on your face.  Bo and I… we knew each other since we were kids. We were in all the same classes up through grade school, fell out of touch, got back in touch in college and graduated together, and I didn't know it until recently, but he had a crush on me," she smiled and chuckled a bit.  "The other kids called him 'Bo Branches' because he was tall, gangly, and looked like a tree. Everything about him was long, except his ears.

"When I came back, during the Pred-Scare, I was officially on sabbatical but honestly, I left the force.  I was in a deep, dark place those months away from Zootopia," she admitted, "It took everything I had to get up each morning, only to wait for the day to end.  I couldn't sleep, but I couldn't stay awake, either. I heard the news from the city, about another 'savage attack' or another protest. It felt like the world burned and I was the spark.  Everything I believed in, everything I tried to do to help the world is what broke it." She looked down into the black coffee. "Then I met Bo. I didn't recognize him at first, he was  _ massive _ , but he was digging out a boulder in the fields.  Mom told me to bring out some lemonade to him and I didn't realize she put two glasses on the tray until I almost dropped them.  He came out of the hole and I reacted in the same way you did."

"Except you squeaked?" Nick asked with a smirk.

"No!" she snapped, but admitted, "…Yes.  It was the first time in almost a month that I felt anything.  I watched him dig out the boulder and he said he could get it out faster if he had someone scooping out the dirt while he braced from underneath.  So, I helped; we got it out, and then talked, drank lemonade… that helped, a little. He was only a friend at that point but it was nice to have a friend.  Someone who… who treated me the same as he always had… as if the Pred-Scare never happened." She handed the mug back to Nick, and as he took a sip, she leaned on his side.

"…There's more, isn't there."

"Yeah…" she sighed, bringing her legs up and under the towel, now wrapped around her with only her toes sticking out.  "I was still in a bad place, Nick, because whenever I thought I could lift myself up, I remembered what I did to Zootopia.  There were some nights, when everyone was asleep, that I snuck into the kitchen…" She took a deep breath, "At first, I only  _ stared _ at the knives..."

Nick's fur stood on end, so his arm and tail hugged around her protectively.

"Every night, I got a little closer, a little surer that it was the right thing to do.  I managed to get a hold of one, draw it out so I could see the blade. Eventually, I stood with my wrist over the sink, and knew how to… how to do it so it was fast, so that it would… you know,  _ do _ it.  I read police and coroner reports like magazine articles because I wanted to be prepared for anything and everything in the ZPD.  I also knew how it would affect my loved ones but I still thought it was the right thing to do. To atone for what I did.

"I didn't know it then -- I didn't really notice much of anything -- but Bo slept on the couch because he was working double-time to get the crops out for market.  I guess he heard me because the next thing I remember, he grabbed the knife away from me and I was crying into his chest with a whirlwind of emotion. Bo carried me to the couch, holding me all through the night, and it was the first time I really slept in weeks.

"After that, I went to therapy and eventually fell more in love with Bo.  Everything he did made me happy, even when he wasn't trying to… especially when he wasn't trying to," she said with a giggle, "We talked about him going to the MMA, I helped him with digging rocks or plowing the field, and he helped me become me again."  Her legs folded out from the towel to rest on the ground again, reaching out to grab the coffee and sitting up, Nick stretching his back.

"He's my rock," said Judy.

"He's a rock, alright," answered Nick.

"Hush, you," she reprimanded with a smirk.

"Since we're opening up, I have a secret, too."

"Is that so," Judy swirled the coffee in the mug, "Is this something I'll need to write you up for?"

"Only if you have jurisdiction from a much higher court," he said, glancing skyward.  Judy saw this face only once before and that as on the train of the night prior. She was excited and scooted closer.  "I visited my parents yesterday, truly spoke to them for the first time in nearly twenty years." Judy gasped quietly, clutching the mug and raptly listening.  "My dad's a tailor, and my mom keeps house. They're both alive and well; as it turns out, they've been waiting for me all this time. It began on that night I told you about, with the Junior Ranger Scouts.

"I ran home after the meeting, crying, but it was the same day that Dad opened his own shop, and they were so happy.  I didn't want to ruin it, so I kept it all in and pretended everything was okay. This went on for  _ years  _ until teenage angst came out and I hated them for loving me with all the hormonal logic I could muster.  It got worse, and when I finally came to my senses, it seemed too little, too late.

"So, I drifted from them, and pushed away from them, but never forgot them, always wondering if they still loved me.  I couldn't go back until I made something of myself, something they could hold up and say, 'That's our son, that's Nick Wilde'."  He pulled out his phone and brought up a photo of him and his parents to Judy's gasp of delight, "This is us from yesterday. I'm seeing them again next weekend and you're welcome to come along if you want."  To this, Judy balled up with a high squeal of glee. "I'll take that as a 'yes'," Nick said with a smile and put away his phone. "Speaking of parents," he continued, rising to his feet and accepting the mug of coffee, "I think yours grow impatient, but before that you need to know what I found in my short time here: I think that 'pie-eating contest' was a ruse to poison a lot of rabbits at once, and Gideon was the intended scapegoat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New boy, Bo Briar, enters the scene. It's funny how a character grows on their own and Bo is no exception, beginning as a visual gag about farm-bunnies and carrots (see the first chapter) but emerging with his own backstory and development arc. Even his name "Bo" was supposed to be a pun on "Judy's beau" and "Briar" as a reference to the "br'er rabbit" that I figured I'd change at some point but... well, "Bo Briar" just fit him. The main premise behind Bo is that he's "simple" but not "stupid", "set in his ways" because that's what he knows; suffice to say, Judy's been a very enlightening experience for him.
> 
> What we also see here are development of Nick & Judy's role in the ZPD, something that I've toyed with as to what, exactly, they're suppose to provide in a big mammal's world.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're back! Welcome, welcome, we've kept the plot warm for you. That said, enjoy~

"'Poison'?" exclaimed Judy, leaping to her feet, "Nick, this is something you should  _ lead _ with, not drop at the last minute."

"I got caught up in the moment," he explained, "Anyway, the danger is neutralized.  The poison was in the whipped cream, not the pies. As long as it stays locked up in Gideon's fridge, it won't hurt anyone."

"What does this have to do with Night Howler pollen?" she asked, thinking back to the coded signals.

"That was the 'poison', probably some new kind of concentration.  I only had a little bit of whipped cream and my heart stopped," he sighed, shivering at the realization of how close to death he really was, "thankfully, Gideon knew CPR."

"Oh my gosh…"

"I don't know the motive of such a plot but I think the distributors are using food and flower vendors to sell their product.  I saw some suspicious individuals yesterday, and from what information I could get from Clawhauser, one of them already has a criminal record (pending confirmation).  I should hear back from him when I return to the city on Monday."

"Nick, we can't go back to Zootopia if there's something going on in Bunnyburrow!  This won't be the only attempt, and bunnies from all over the city, all over the country will be here," she said with growing dread, but also determination, "Young, old, all kinds could be targeted, and  _ much _ more than poisoned whipped cream."

"Juju!" came a voice, the two of them spinning about with bright, cheery faces, bantering idly as Bo and Gideon approached, "The shower's all ready for you, hun," said the boy rabbit, himself still looking matted with damp fur, but significantly cleaner.  As it turned out, his fur was actually earthen brown underneath all that mud.

"Thanks, Bobo," she said, ignoring a muffled snicker from Nick.

"You two go on ahead, I need to make a phone call," he mentioned.  And so, the two foxes remained in the yard as Nick turned towards the fields and pulled out his phone, dialing up Chief Bogo.

"Who ya' callin', Stretch?" Gideon asked, paws on his hips and smiling wide.

"You know who I'm calling," replied Nick blandly, not sparing even a single glance.

" _ What? _ ” replied the stouter fox, expressing amused incredulity, "Now how would  _ I _ know something like that?"

"Because you're up here," he explained with a tap of his head, "Everything I know,  _ you _ know, ergo, you know who I'm calling.  Now go away, I have important police business to discuss.”

The other fox stood in front of him, not wearing his flannel and jeans but the tropical shirt, tie, and slacks, arms crossed and smirking, "Clever fox.  How'd you know?"

"Judy’s ears didn't even  _ flick _ in your direction," Nick began, putting the phone to his shoulder and speaking softly, "The fact that you're antagonizing me means there must be something very important to discuss, but it can wait."  He put the phone back to his ear and grinned, "Good morning Chief, sleep well? … (Loud, disgruntled noises) … Uh huh, uh huh, that's super, listen, I and probably Judy caught ourselves a real nasty cough down here in Bunnyburrow… Yeah, we're both staying a few extra days until we get over it… thanks for understanding, big guy, I owe you one.  Yeah huh, buh-bye."

"More code, Officer Slick?"

"The chief now knows that Judy and I are on the prowl for Night Howler pollen activity, and our absence from Zootopia will be put down to sick days.  If we're caught frolicking about, he'll yell at us and 'punish' us with parking duty, the whole shebang, but it won't go on our records as delinquency or insubordination," he continued to speak in a disinterested, unattached manner, "But you already knew that -- being a hallucination as you are -- and talking aloud helps me think."  He kept the phone to his ear and picked up the coffee from the planter, having himself a seat once more and reclining with his best relaxed demeanor, so to speak with his imaginary associate. "So, Dawson, what's on your mind?"

"You're a laugh riot," said 'Dawson', sitting himself adjacent, his face then softening into a smile, "Seems to me there're easier ways to kill a bunch of bunnies than 'poisoned' whipped cream."

"It's a singular way to go about it, I'll admit, but manufacturing pollen into a stable, cream-like substance can't be easy or cheap."

"Or, if mass death is really the order of the day, why use something as haphazard as a 'pie-eating contest'?  Why not simply… poison the water supply? With poison?"

"There's no guarantee that the rabbits who ingest it, even the sensitive ones, will react the same way I did.  They could go into shock, or roll around on the ground in a crazy acid trip," pondered Nick, ruing the fact that he didn't have any coffee left in his mug.

"You'd think whatever villainous mastermind behind this scheme would have some kind of tried-and-tested poison to fall back on, like arsenic."

"What if the Night Howler pollen  _ wasn't _ meant to kill a bunch of rabbits?"

"A bunch of  _ diff'rent kinds _ of rabbits, 'from all over the country' she said, young and old, from burrows and cities alike."

"It's a field test," realized Nick.

"And poor ol' Gideon would be an easy patsy to blame it on if things went wrong, which prob’ly they will."

"One thing I can't quite figure out, though…"

"And what's that?"

"Why are  _ you _ still here?" asked Nick, looking directly at 'Dawson' as he set his coffee mug down, "After sleep, food, and caffeine, why am I still suffering hallucinations from the small amount I ingested?"

" _ Well _ ," the faux fox said with a wide, toothy grin, "that's the million dollar question ain't it, Basil?" And then he wasn't.

Nick loosed a heavy, annoyed sigh before standing and making his way to the farmhouse.  He glanced off to the distance at the distinctive midnight shade of flower, standing vigilant against the insects that proved so harmful to the Hopps' produce,  _ Something synthetic, maybe? _

Up the patio steps, he climbed, ducking his head to avoid the low (proportionately) porch ceiling, and then the patio door, letting him to the feasting rabbits within.  It was a cacophonous joy that filled the house, dozens upon dozens of rabbits joined in the kitchen to gorge upon pumpkin pancakes and vegetarian bacon. There at the counter stood busy Gideon and Bonnie, feverishly flipping flapjacks from pan to plates, operating a full eight-burner stove.  Much to Nick's relief, he went mostly unnoticed edging along the counter to where three coffee pots steamed patiently; not completely unnoticed, actually, as both a cleaner Judy and Bo waved at him from across the two, long rectangular tables, to which he waved back.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," said Nick to Gideon, leaning near the kitchen sink with a refilled mug of black coffee,  _ Ahh… caffeinated bliss… _

"It was certainly a blessing that Gideon decided to stay for the TBR," Bonnie said as the stouter fox chuckled, "Our house isn't quite so busy the rest of the year, but we've got Stu's side visiting and my side visiting, and there’s plenty more coming tomorrow -- don't get me wrong, I love each and every rabbit under this roof -- but I won't deny, it's nice to have someone helping in the kitchen that I don't have to watch like a hawk."

"Y'hear that, Nick?" remarked Gideon, exchanging grins with him, "A rabbit turning her back on a fox."

"Now stop it, you two, that's quite enough of this 'fox-and-rabbit' business," she said with a quick turn on the both of them, a greasy wooden spoon wagging dangerously, but turning right back to deal with the veggie bacon, "I know you mean it in good fun, but I've been trying to get that out of my bunnies for the longest time now."  The air grew heavy in the kitchen, for the voice of Mom spoke and all with ears listened, some not daring to chew. "There're a lot of rabbits coming into Bunnyburrow, and they haven't all accepted foxes as friends, even the ones from Zootopia, but…  _ gosh darnit! _ " she declared, striking the butt of the wooden spoon into the nearby counter, "If I can trust a fox, then-" she stopped to look about at the gravely silent kitchen.  "Alright, let's clean this up; we've got lots of work to do but not all day to do it!"

As a wizard commands the elements and a general their army, so did the dozens upon dozens of rabbits turn from jubilee to pandemonium, clinking dishes and shifting chairs at the Hopps matriarch's decree.  Nick barely leaped from the sink fast enough, skulking as swift as a breeze across the countertop and chair backs, straining all a fox's innate agility afforded him to escape the kitchen without spilling his coffee.

In the safety of the patio entryway from whence he came, Nick witnessed a bewildering tumult of washing, drying, and stacking dishes; and poor Gideon, clinging to the counter near the stove while trying to turn off the burners.  There stood Bonnie, calm in the storm caused by the swarming rabbits, whose very movements seemed to produce a vacuum of air to whip gales through the kitchen.

Meager seconds allowed Nick to catch his breath before realizing that he was still in mortal danger: standing in one of three exits from the kitchen.  Thanking his advantage of height and all those chin-ups he suffered through at the ZPD academy, Nick reached high to grab one of the patio's rafters and hoist himself away from the path of a bunny deluge.

"You can let go now, Nick," came Judy's calming voice after some many minutes.

"I rather like it up here," he determined, claws digging into the woodwork, feet locked around the rafter, one paw holding out his mug of perked black and him staring intently into the ceiling.

"I'll take this," came Bo’s voice next as he relieved the weight of the cup.

"I gotcha," said Gideon, whose mitts braced Nick's back as he tensed before releasing the rafter.  Righted, the taller fox stood and straightened himself upon being returned his mug of coffee, thusly downed in a single gulp.  Quietly and observed, he walked into a kitchen which had not a single dish, pan, utensil, or chair out of place; rinsed out his mug in the sink and set it to dry on a nearby dish rack.  Nick strode back to the patio entryway and addressed.

"Well," he said, casually smiling and folding his paws in front, "that was exciting."

"I dunno 'bout you," interjected Gideon, "but I find it terrifying."

"It takes some getting used to," beamed Judy.

"I been here a while and I still ain't used to it," huffed the stouter fox.

"And the day's only begun, so I will need to speak with the two of you," he said, nodding to Gideon and Judy, and then to Bo, "privately."  Bo instantly looked put-off, silently questioning between Judy and Nick, even Gideon, who only shrugged in sympathetic confusion. Nick approached the larger rabbit with both paws on his broad shoulders, "This is nothing against you and I  _ do _ like you," he began, dropping all pretense in a moment of rare, absolute honesty, "but I cannot stress how important it is that you are  _ not _ involved in this next conversation until it is certain that your knowledge of its content does not bring you harm.  Normally, I would deceive you in some clever and well-meaning way to leave us alone, how _ ever _ ,” he continued with a raised finger as a point of order, “I will not do that because I suspect there will come a time in the near future when we will need your help; more importantly, I respect the love you and Judy have for one another, as well as your integrity.  For now, I ask that you trust me, and let us speak privately. Please."

* * *

In the back of Gideon's van, the three sat amongst tormented silence.

"Thousands of lives  _ endangered… _ to test a narcotic?" Judy said with understandable disbelief, "I'm not sure which is worse, that or poisoning."

"They're both pretty bad," Gideon said weakly, leaning forward with his face in the folds of his arms, propped up by his knees, still shaking with the knowledge that he was almost a part in it.  "At least we dodged a bullet, didn't we?" he said, a scared smile on his face as he looked up to the officers, but frowned when they did not return his relief.

"No, not yet," answered Nick, fingertips to his skull.

"What?  Why  _ not _ ? All we gotta do is get rid of the whipped cream and no one's the wiser, right?"

"If this is a field test, then someone's watching," Judy said, looking out through the open back doors of the van at Bo doing push-ups a good ways off, many of her brothers and sisters piled on top of him, "and without that whipped cream they'll know someone's onto them."

"Or maybe they'll think the whipped cream went bad?" Gideon tried, looking more scared than before.

"We also can't get rid of that much of it without someone noticing," Nick pointed out.

"So we'll make more," Gideon tried again, "But… but we won't tell anyone, we'll make it proper this time, without the bad cream."

Judy and Nick exchanged expressions and then her ears perked to Gideon, "That's not a bad idea if all we need are pies with whipped cream."

"A 'false positive'?" quipped Nick.

"We'd never know what they were looking for, though," realized Judy, "Bunnyburrow doesn't have a forensics lab equipped for that kind of research, nor do we have the time to find out."

"On top of that, how are we going to make that much whipped cream in two days?" asked Nick.

"I could make maybe a third of that vat if I went non-stop both days," admitted Gideon.

"Judy and I combined might be able to help, but I'm not the burliest of the bunch," Nick said, giving his arm a weak flex, “We’d need someone not only with arm strength but  _ stamina _ to replicate that much ‘hand-whipped cream’.  If we could use a machine, this would be so much easier but I doubt such a difference would go unnoticed.”

The three of them seemed to reach the same conclusion simultaneously and looked out at Bo, bicep-curling with six young rabbits hanging off his forearms at a time.

"So… we tell him we need more whipped cream, is all?" Gideon suggested, "Make it a competition?"

"Bo's not really  _ that _ vain, he prefers more structured competitions, sincerely, he'd be happy to help either way but… I  _ guess _ we don't need to tell him why we need more of it," said Judy, looking uncomfortable at the prospect.

"No," decided Nick, looking across the yard's growing glare at the heavily-built rabbit, "No deception, no hustle.  He comes in as a partner, not a mark. Finnick and I never lied to each other or kept secrets, unless dire circumstances demanded it, and we always came clean as soon as possible.  Besides," he said with a sly grin, "We're all foxes here, and if a fox can't trust a fox, who can they trust?"

"That's that, then," she declared, and stood up in the van, "I'll pull a few strings to get the cream, and then meet you guys over at the bakery as soon as possible.  Like Mom said, 'We've got lots of work to do but not all day to do it', so let’s get to it."

"Hope this doesn't put a damper on your TBR plans," lamented Gideon.

"This is  _ way _ more important," Judy assured, "I'll let my folks know, though, they'll understand."

"Don't let them know  _ too _ much, this is  _ supposed _ to be a secret," Nick reminded.

"Trust me, Slick, I can handle my parents," she said with a confident grin, strutting off towards Bo.  Bo, by the way, was visibly happy to see her, and while the foxes couldn't make out what she was saying, the larger rabbit certainly seemed eager to lend his aid.  They touched noses before she went off to the house with some of her siblings as he bounded over to the van.

"Judy said you guys need my help with something?  Something, umm…" he leaned in and whispered, " _ Secret _ ," as though the mere mention that something could be unmentionable was, itself, unmentionable.

"Hop in, we'll tell you on the way," Nick instructed, pointing a thumb at the back of the van.  He went around to shotgun, Gideon to the driver's seat, and Bo closed the doors behind him as the engine revved up.  In practiced flicks of the wrist, both foxes donned their protective eyewear before pulling out from the driveway.

"So… before this whole…  _ secret _ thing happens, can I ask a question?" Bo asked.

"I'll allow it," replied Nick, "Gideon?"

"No skin off my nose," answered the baker.

"Okay," continued Bo, somewhat put-off but no worse than before, "what's with the sunglasses, it's not even noon yet?"

"Sunblindness," answered both foxes simultaneously.  "I know of a vixen who never wore eye protection and she went sunblind by twenty-five," explained Nick, grinning over his shoulder, "full nocturnal.  She can't handle sunlight, nearly burns her retinas."

"Well… could  _ I _ get some sunglasses?" the rabbit asked hopefully.  The foxes exchanged glances and then Nick popped open the glove compartment as an off chance.  To Bo's great luck and delight, a pair of shades sat there, not Aviators like Nick's or Raybands like Gideon's, but a bright green pair of glow-in-the-dark sunglasses; regardless, Bo was pleased-as-punch to wear them, holding onto the back of the seat with a broad grin and a bob of his head.

"Now that we're all foxes here," Nick began and Bo's ears sprang up, gripping the back of the van seat with palpable excitement, "It's time to trust you with crucial, confidential information.  No one else can know about it." Nick pivoted in his seat and lowered his sunglasses to fix Bo in place; Bo nodded obediently and decisively. Facing forward, Nick continued, "I am not here on official ZPD business, I'm actually off duty, but I have reason to believe that there is covert Night Howler activity in Bunnyburrow."

"But,  _ midnicampum holicithias  _ is harmless?" said a bewildered Bo, "So long as you don't  _ eat  _ it, of course, and we'd lose a lot of our crops to bugs without 'em."

"Yeah, until someone found a way to-" started Gideon.

"Make cream out of it," Nick quickly interrupted, shooting the stouter fox a glare behind his darkened lenses, bringing his paw no higher than the back of the seat to make the 'cut it' gesture under his chin.  Nick tried to convey Bo's ready knowledge of the Pred-Scare -- namely involving Judy and the sensitive nature thereof -- through thought alone, but was glad that the stouter fox didn't continue his observation, even if he did look a bit put-out.  "I don't yet know  _ how _ but the cream Gideon whipped was tainted with Night Howler pollen, which is highly addictive and psychotropic, and I suspect a higher concentration than what's on the streets.  The pie-eating contest was supposed to be a field test, taking advantage of the wide variety of rabbits that's in Bunnyburrow right now."

"This is heavy stuff," Bo said, "I mean, it sounds ridiculous, it  _ can't _ be real."

"It is, every word," assured Nick, "and I know how it sounds, trust me."

"You've been in Bunnyburrow all of a day and you've found some… big conspiracy to get thousands of bunnies hooked on drugs?  With whipped cream? Forgive me if I'm not convinced," Bo replied, crossing his arms on the back of the seat.

_ Imagine that, he's pushing back.  Good. _  Nick turned around and took off his glasses with a wry smirk.  "Tell me, 'Bobo', do you trust Judy?"

"Of  _ course _ I trust Judy," he said coldly, straightening, "and I  _ am _ trying to trust you, Nick, but so far everything I've heard is crazy!  So c'mon, what's this really about? Are you throwing a surprise party for Judy?"

"No," said Nick.

"A surprise party for Judy's parents?"

"Still, no," insisted Nick.

"Are we gonna pull a prank on someone?"

"No," said Gideon.

"Going for drinks, then."

"Later, if you're good, but no," said Nick.

"You two aren't an item, are you…?"

"No," answered the foxes in unison.

"Because if you are-"

"We ain't 'an item', Bo," Gideon said, glaring over his shoulder.

"You're not gonna kill me, are you?"

"Maybe…" Gideon grumbled.

"You know what, I regret bringing you in on this.  Give me those sunglasses," Nick said, holding out his palm to the rabbit.

"No, they're mine!" Bo declared, holding the glow-in-the-dark glasses to his face.

"No, they're  _ mine _ ," Gideon corrected, "and you haven't earned 'em, yet.”

Bo frowned but returned the eyewear.  "Fine, so what comic book villain poisoned the whipped cream for the pie-eating contest?" asked a grumpy rabbit.

"The whipped cream is bad, okay?" said Nick,  _ Not technically a lie, but I guess we're bordering on dire circumstances, _ "And you're being a big baby.  I thought this was going to be fun spy-games stuff, you know, pretend it's a big whodunit with conspiracy and intrigue, something to pass the time, but I guess that's out the window."

"It's  _ real _ bad whipped cream," sighed Gideon, picking up on the cue, "Nick had some last night, threw him for a loop.  We figured between the three of us, we could get some more whipped up before Monday."

"Well, I mean… you could've just  _ said _ that?" tried Bo, "I would've played along."

"And ruin the suspense?" Nick doubted, "Besides, you've already brushed the whole thing off as 'crazy', I think was the word you used."

"It's almost like we were building up to something,  _ huh _ Nick?" prompted Gideon.

" _ Ah _ well," said Nick with a blatant shrug, "such a shame."

Bo seemed contemplative, fingers drumming on the back of the seat as the foxes basked in the churning of his cognitive gears.  "So…  _ midnicampum holicithias  _ pollen, huh?"

"Yep," said Gideon.

" _ In _ the whipped cream?" continued Bo.

"You got it," said Nick.

"That Gideon whipped."

" _ Hand _ -whipped," corrected Gideon, "gives it that nice fluff you don't get from a blender."

Bo pondered still and once again the foxes basked in quiet smugness.  "If the pollen were in honey, it could be mixed into the organic oil used to make the whipped cream."

"Synthetic honey, perhaps?" asked Nick, handing back the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses.

"A synthetic hive, more likely, it's not unheard of," said Bo, donning the eye protection.

"I'm missing something," interjected Gideon.

"The _ midnicampum holicithias _ extract in that cream, hypothetically," Bo began, "would need to be a very thin honey because there's not much else you can do with pollen and it'd have to mix with the organic oil without being noticed.  But that means bees got close enough to gather it up, which doesn't happen; bugs won't go near the midnicampum holicithias because the pollen makes them loopy."

"Well, that settles it, then," Gideon said with a hint of confused frustration, "That's the last time I use out-of-town supplies for my whipped cream."

"You shipped in out-of-town cream?" asked Bo, "No wonder it went bad."

"Me?  No," answered Gideon, glancing over his shoulder, "Dent Wooler did, he’s a city-cousin with surplus, but I guess that'll teach me to go cheap, huh?"

"Wooler?  The ram from the pawn shop?  You mean _ Tad _ Wooler, not Dent," corrected Bo, "he's the one who comes by and picks up the boulders."

_ What a coincidence _ , pondered Nick.

"No, definitely ‘Dent’; Tad introduced me to him about a month ago.  I never seen him before, but I don't ever visit the pawn shop, so I figured Tad brought him in to help run the place.  Seems like a nice guy, got some horn and ear missing on this side, though, so he must be the rough-and-tumble type," Gideon explained, gesturing with his finger.  Nick lowered his sunglasses to frown at Gideon, "What'd I say  _ this _ time?" he huffed.

"Gideon, does 'Dent' look like this?" asked Nick, pulling out his phone and showing a mug shot of a ram missing chunks from his ear and horn on the same side.  Bo leaned in to get a good view of him.

"Yeah, tha's Dent, that's him exactly," he answered in disbelief.

"Nick, why do you have his mug shot?" Bo asked, suddenly recalling that Nick was a cop.

"I saw him yesterday vending flowers on a street corner," Nick said, "and he about jumped out of his wool as soon as he saw me.  He certainly reeked of suspicion, but not mindicampus-… no… medicamp…?"

"Midnicampum holicithias?" offered Bo.

"Madnicampfem-"

"Midnicampum holicithias," repeated Bo.

"Holidayseeus?" tried Nick.

"Midni-" began Bo.

"Midni-" repeated Nick.

"-Campum."

"-Campum."

"Holi-"

"Holi-"

"Cith-i-as," Bo articulated.

"Cynthia's," said Nick.

"Night.  Howler," urged Gideon.

"He didn't smell of Night Howler pollen," Nick concluded.

"I tried," groaned Bo, "Why's  _ this _ ram so suspicious?"  The three finally made it to Gideon's bakery and piled out of the van, Nick and Bo both needing a good stretch.

"Because it wasn't a few hours later that on the same block of the same street, a food vendor was selling mushrooms-on-a-stick, covered in so much and so many spices that it easily masked the smell of any Night Howler pollen which a fox, like myself, might pick up," Nick elaborated.

"How d'you figure?" challenged Bo, "I've had those 'shroom-kebabs here in Bunnyburrow and they're  _ delicious _ because of all those spices.  On top of that, you make it sound like every fox in Zootopia is undercover for the ZPD."

"That would be  _ amazing _ , but no," Nick argued as Gideon, sensibly keeping to himself, unlocked the back door of the bakery, "The fact of the matter is, Night Howler pollen is incredibly light, able to drift upon the slightest breeze where other pollen might be too heavy; that's how the flowers pollinate without the need for direct contact with insects, such as bees.  I can't pronounce the name as well as you or Judy, but I do know that Night Howlers only repel insects when their pollen is freshest, which also puts them at their most toxic-"

"Everyone knows this, that's why certain crops are sown at certain times of the year, to synchronize with the midnicampum holicithias pollinating cycle, and as a minor correction, Nick, the pollen doesn't drift very high, twelve inches at the highest.  This low-lying cloud of pollen acts as a natural form of insecticide that's worked for generations, and yet we bunnies aren't high twenty-four-seven," extrapolated Bo as they went inside with a patiently listening Gideon.

"It also makes places that frequent their use (i.e. Bunnyburrow) a hyperallergic pit of despair for those sensitive to the pollen (i.e. foxes).  Gideon," called Nick, the baker's fur standing on end as he was dragged back into the conversation, "do you remember when you had the 'fox flu'?"

"Yes, and thank you for bringing up such an uncomfortable subject; I rather hoped this morning was somehow overshadowed," Gideon grimaced, "I'm surprised you city foxes even know 'bout it."

"We 'city foxes' get it, too, but perhaps not with the same severity."

"Really?  I thought it was only a farm fox kinda thing."

"Wait, stop," insisted Bo, "now you're telling me 'fox flu' is actually a thing?  I thought it was something fox parents made up to get their kits out of school." Both Nick and Gideon glowered at Bo.

"Bo, my Pa made me go to school for the entire year I had fox flu.  Everyone called me 'Gunky Gideon' until I started punching teeth in."

"Oh!  Oh…" moaned Bo, index fingers a steeple with self-consciousness, "Okay, there are lots more things making lots more sense now…"

"Splendid," said Nick with a condescending smile, "So, the air in Bunnyburrow is filled with minuscule particles of Night Howler pollen; young foxes show symptoms at the age they start walking on their own, in the ambient haze.  It could take some years to fully develop immunity, depending on the concentration, in which time they suffer runny noses, weepy eyes, and possibly sinus infections."

"I wanna go on the record and say I never called you 'Gunky Gideon'," Bo said quietly to Gideon.

"Well, I never called you 'Bo Branches'," Gideon quietly replied.

"Nowadays," Nick continued, unaware of the private conversation during his exposition, "foxes have better access to medicines to help this process along.  Why am I explaining this? Because I don't have the same natural immunity to Night Howler pollen that Gideon does, additionally, it would seem that I have a special sensitivity to it and the sparse particles which manage to float up to my altitude.  Lucky me." Nick then turned his attention to… no one in particular, saying, "And  _ that's _ the million dollar answer," with a dramatic gesticulation of presentation.

Bo and Gideon exchanged a discrete shrug, the latter soon unlocking a fridge and heaving out the aforementioned vat, still sealed tight.  The three stared at it -- Gideon with concern, Nick with apprehension, and Bo with skepticism -- before the baker popped it open. Within was the undeniably delicious looking whipped cream, perfectly smooth with an alluring curl towards the top; Gideon sighed with pride and dismay, knowing its tainted contents.

"It looks fine, it smells fine," the bunny commented, "you'd think there was some discoloration or odor the way you go on about it."

"Perhaps we can run our own 'field test' and see how you react," Nick retorted, "Healthy, young buck like you might get a dizzy spell or a sore throat at worst."

"A real public servant, you are," mumbled Bo.

"I'm off duty."

"Got a spoon?" he sighed.

"Have I 'got a spoon'," grunted the baker, pulling out a sizeable stainless steel spoon from a nearby drawer.

"Bangs, this is an experiment, not euthanasia," Nick cautioned, "we only need-"  But Bo already scooped a wallop of a dollop, causing Nick to reel back at the knowledge of what that much would do to him.   _ 'Not really vain', indeed, _ scoffed Nick, watching in horror and disgust as the buck-toothed mouth opened wide to swallow it.  Both foxes gawked as Bo smacked his lips and made something of a show to lick the spoon clean while jutting his chest out.

"That was so good I might have another," boasted Bo, tapping the spoon on the rim of the vat, "and from the sounds of it you're dumping it out anyway, so I'll-"  He cut himself off with a guttural lurch, the rich color of his nose and ears drained to a pallor as silverware clattered on the floor; he gripped the sides of the vat for dear life, hunched over the white substance.  In a grotesque cacophony, any hope for the whipped cream to crown even a single slice of pie met a swift and decisive end.

"There's the discoloration you wondered about," cringed Nick.

"And the odor," choked Gideon.

"I hate you both," gurgled Bo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first glimpse into a rabbit household and, unrelated, Nick's first obstacle to convincing someone that something foul is afoot.
> 
> Who doesn't love a mispronunciation gag? It was this section that learned me how to spell midnicampum holicithias from memory, a useful skill for any Zootopia fanfic writer.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whipped cream is nice but  
> Poison and foul plots are not,  
> Like snow over thorns.

"Thanks for not getting that on the floor," Gideon said while fetching Bo some water.

"Don't mention it," he weakly replied, accepting the token of refreshment.

"At least in polite company," quipped Nick, sealing the odorous vat with a cough and a wave.

"I really liked that vat, too," lamented the stouter fox, "I'll stash it in the closet and then haul it off to a compost heap as soon as I can.  The cream would clog up my drains if I tried pouring it out."

A sharp knock on the back door caught each of their attention, to which Nick snapped his fingers, "Why, that must be Judy.”  Gideon, the closest, opened the door to a grinning rabbit and a pickup truck filled with canisters of cream from none other than the  Wincow Soy Farm .

"Hey guys, sorry it took so long," she said, turning back and giving a thumbs-up to the bovine driver, a slender old cow, who giggled and killed the engine before stepping out.

"Gideon, my red velvet cupcake, why didn't you say you needed cream?" said Mrs. Clarabelle Wincow in a subtle low and a warm smile, "You know I'm  _ always _ happy to provide you whatever you need."

"Gosh, Ms. C, I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner but I would’ve felt bad if I turned down what was given to me," he said, reaching up to drop the tailgate, "It made some real nasty stuff, though.  Say, d'you still have that compost pit where you dump all yer bad cream? I could use that right about now."

"Of course, just put it in the back of the truck and I'll  _ truck _ it away," Clarabelle tittered, and smiled wider as she saw Bo step quickly into view to touch noses with Judy, " _ Ohh _ , Bo, as handsome as ever, it's great to see you again.  Thank you for taking out that stump last month, it was frightfully ugly."

"Any time, Mrs. Wincow," he grinned, hoisting Judy up onto the open tailgate with ease.

"Oh my, and this charming fellow must be Nick," she cooed, extending her hoof to the taller fox as he hopped up into the bed of the truck with Judy.

"The pleasure's all mine," insisted Nick with a disarming smile, touching the very tip of his nose to the back of her knuckles in a manner most dapper.

"Such a gentlefox," she swooned, batting her long-lashed eyes before bending forward to lean on the side, watching as Nick and Judy wobbled a canister to the edge of the bed so either Bo or Gideon could haul it into the kitchen.  "It's so wonderful to see foxes and rabbits working together. It seems like only yesterday…  _ oh _ , listen to an old fuddy-duddy like me, reminiscing when there's work to be done.  I brought some sandwiches for everyone, you young folk need your strength!" she said, humming a happy diddy as she reached behind the driver's seat of her truck to pull out some paper bags.  "By-the-by, how are Goliath and Ruth enjoying their Caribouan Cruise? I'm so envious of them; maybe I should go one of these days."

"Well," answered Gideon, rubbing the nape of his neck, "They turned their phones off, so I guess they're having fun.  Should be back later this week," he looked to Nick as he hoisted another canister of cream, "They'll wanna meetcha, Stretch, if you can stay?"

"That depends on whether Nick wants to use up all his sick days in a week," Judy said, smirking at her partner.

"I have a very convincing cough, years of experience," the fox smirked right back.

"I hope you don't mind my prying, Nick, but I know nothing about  _ your _ parents.  What do they do?" Clara asked, anticipation high in her tone.

"I don't mind at all, Clara," assured Nick, sitting down on the side of the truck with his feet on the wheel well, Judy straddling nearer the bovine, inspecting the bag lunches.  This extra space gave Gideon and Bo room to load the vat of whipped cream into the bed. "John and Jackie Wilde, he's a tailor and she keeps house, not only for herself but others in the neighborhood, lived in Zootopia for as long as I've known them, so at least thirty years," he said with a grin before reviling at the nearer vat, "Also, I suggest you not open this unless  _ absolutely  _ necessary, it's pretty bad."

"Turkey, cheese, and tomato sandwiches for the foxes," listed Judy, handing one to each, "Lettuce, cucumber, and bean sprouts for the rabbits.  Nothing for yourself, Ms. Clara?"

"Oh, you're a sweetheart Judy, but no, I have plenty to eat back at the farm."

"Hey Nick," said Gideon after a long minute of thoughtful chewing, "You said your Mom's name was 'Jackie'?  This is a shot in the dark, but her maiden name wouldn't happen to be 'Savage', would it?"

" _ Yes _ , why?" Nick asked hesitantly, not often on the receiving end of suddenly disclosed private information.

"Oh my gosh, that’s right,  _ Ruth’s _ maiden name is ‘Savage’!" Judy exclaimed, her ears springing like traps with her palpable excitation (if her thumping foot were any indication), "Could you two possibly be  _ cousins _ ?"

" _ Uhh _ , I-I-I dunno, I mean, Ma always said that her 'Jackie' was 'lost to some  _ wild _ fox in the city' -- I never figured she meant 'Wilde' as a name until now (we always figured it was meant as a slam on whoever they were).  Heck, Ma's from a litter of six, so…  _ maybe _ ?"

"That'd be an amazing coincidence if you  _ weren't _ cousins," Bo said, finally swallowing his mouthful of sandwich, “Logistically speaking, predators of the same species and the surname  _ are _ related in some way.”

"I guess Mrs. Grey didn't go into depth about this wayward sibling of hers," Nick remarked, "Ringing any bells, Clara?"

The cow lowed in thought, "None a bit.  I didn't know Ruth very well before they developed the -- and I mean no offense, dearies,” she then said to the foxes, who amiably abided her, “but positive relations with predator communities  _ is _ a fairly modern notion, one I wholly support, of course.  Anyway, she and Goliath moved into that quaint little bit of town from Knottedwood, I heard; he cleared the land and built the house himself, you know," Gideon grunted a monosyllabic confirmation, "He makes the most  _ wonderful _ furniture, why, I have an end table myself, lovely little thing.  Well, I won't keep you youngin's any longer, not when there's a whole Saturday of youth ahead of you."

"Thank you again for all the help, Ms. Clara, you've been amazing," said Judy, neatly folding up her paper bag and hopping from the side of the truck.

"Oh, t'weren't a thing at all," tittered the old, slender bovine, "And don't you worry none about this nasty stuff in here, I know what to do with it."  As the four stood at the bakery's kitchen, Ms. Clara drove off into the hazy afternoon. Nick, Gideon, and Bo each made to enter the door and nearly jumped as Judy stood in their path, arms crossed and smirking.

"So," she said.

"So…" replied Nick.

"There's some…  _ explaining _ that needs to happen?" suggested Bo.

"There  _ is _ ," she agreed, and turned on a heel to walk inside.

"I… didn't believe them about the whipped cream, at first," Bo admitted, following her, "I honestly thought they were stringing me along."

"It took quite a bit of convincing, but it all came out in the end, wouldn't you agree?" Nick asked with a broad smile.

"He upchucked into the vat," Gideon clarified, leaning to Judy with a paw at the side of his mouth, to which she grimaced.

"I still hate you both," scowled Bo, sweeping a glare at either fox.

"Be that as it may, the issue at hand is the whipped cream," asserted Nick, "We only have a day-and-a-half to get enough made so that it doesn't look like we threw out the other stuff."

"This keeps getting weirder and weirder," grumbled Bo.

"You're right," Judy said to Bo, and then held his paw, "Thank you for sticking through with this, Bobo, it means a lot to me."

"Okay, Juju," he said, and leaned in to touch noses.  Nick and Gideon exchanged incredulity.

"Just like  _ that _ ?" challenged Gideon.

"Just like that," affirmed Bo.

"And you're not writing it off as an upset stomach because you ate too much whipped cream at once?" criticized Nick.

"This guy chugs pudding before juggling kettle weights," Judy explained, "He's got an iron stomach."

"Where were you when we had to prove String Theory to this guy?" Nick demanded.

"I was off doing impossible things, Slick," she said with that cocky smirk, tilting her head, "Where were  _ you _ ?"

"Going  _ insane _ ," he answered, gesturing with a twirl of his fingers at the sides of his head, "But I'm willing to let it slide this  _ one time  _ since we're on such a tight schedule."

"Right, so, what we've got here is enough cream to last the week," began Gideon, stooping to retrieve his big bowls from the open shelf under the counter, "Bo, you're whippin', keep it a quick, steady pace.  Nick, you're pourin' in the sunflower oil, not too much but not too little. Judy, there're a whole buncha plastic containers in the backroom, I need you to clean 'em, dry 'em, and fill 'em with whipped cream."  Judy's face hardened into grinning determination as she saluted and then sped off to gather up the plasticware.

"A little bit of sunflower oil, for that Grey's Bakery froth," Nick thought aloud.

"Actually," began Bo, "It's a common misconception that whipped cream is mostly cream.  It's actually one part cream to three parts organic oil, usually sunflower."

"Wow, learn something new every day," Nick said, and then exchanged an eye roll with Gideon to once more pity the lost nuance.  "And what're you doing, o master of the kitchen?"

"I'm mixin' the cream and the dry sweetener," he explained, retrieving whisks for Bo and himself, "I should have enough for all of it."

* * *

They worked through the afternoon, in time feeling the machinations of team cooperation for a fluid system.  As the last drop of cream mixed with the last bit of oil, Judy sealed the last plasticware into the last fridge-space.  Sunlight traveled up the wall towards the ceiling in rich, earthen gold, speaking its final thoughts of the day. Bo lay collapsed on the kitchen's tiled floor, ice packs covering from shoulders to fingertips.

"I'm skipping arm-day this week," he mumbled, Judy tiptoeing up-and-down his back.

"That's my big bun," she cooed, crouching to stroke his ears, toes curling around his neck to continue the therapeutic kneading.

Nick swabbed up the remains of spilled cream and sunflower oil (as much as a mop could handle, in any case, since it also got on him), while Gideon washed the mixing things.

"I'm surprised to see neither hide nor hair of your sister, being in town as she is," Nick whispered while leaning in to address the stouter fox.

"Oh, she's prob’ly with friends or something," he said, if a bit dejected, "haven't even heard from her, yet.  Think I should call?" He pulled the sink's stopper to let the sudsy water drain out.

"A text message wouldn't go amiss.  I'll take care of drying these," offered Nick, taking up a towel.  Gideon smiled and grabbed a towel for himself, patting his paws dry before pulling out his phone.  "So, how's our whipping boy?" Nick asked, returning to normal volume.

"He's fine," Judy answered.

"I'm fine…" Bo grumbled.

"Alright, up up, big guy," she said, climbing off and clapping his shoulder, "We're gonna be late for supper."

"Can't have that," he grunted, sliding his arms out from the limp ice packs as Judy gathered them up.

"D'you bunnies need a ride?" Gideon asked, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

"Thanks, Gideon, but I promised my parents to meet them at the bus depot as a condition of 'hanging out' today," she sighed with anticipatory frustration, "My Uncle Terry's coming in tonight; I love him with all my heart but he's still a bit…" she tapped her temple with an apologetic shrug, "They're gonna need all the help they can get."

"Oh, Uncle Terry," said Bo, rubbing the back of his neck in uncertainty.

"Perhaps better to skip those introductions, at least tonight," suggested Nick, stashing the mixing bowls and whisks away.

"Let me know if you meet up with Esther, okay?" said Judy as she and Bo went out the back door and around to the front.

"One of these days, I  _ will _ get a conversation past her," said Nick, leaning out the kitchen door to peek through the bakery's window and spotting the pair of rabbits on the sidewalk, "Any word yet?"

"No," admitted Gideon, "but it's only been a few minutes.  C'mon, we need to get the sunflower oil outta these clothes."

"The washing machine is…?"

"I have a hamper…  What're you doin'?" asked Gideon, halting as he brought up the dish soap from under the sink.

"I'm undressing?" guessed Nick, his shirt already halfway unbuttoned.

"Don't you wanna, y'know, go up to change and then bring the oily clothes down afterward?" suggested Gideon, earning a bewildered stare from Nick.

" _ No _ , because that would require multiple trips and I’m lazy," he explained, "Besides, we saw each other naked only this morning, remember?"

"Oh, oh yeah, huh…" he trailed off.

Nick shrugged his shirt and tie to hand them over to Gideon, "Plus, your bakery is up against an empty lot, which is up against the woods, so I'm not altogether worried someone might see me without my shirt."

"Right, because that'd be dumb; to worry about it, I mean," Gideon tried, with an awkward chuckle.

_ Huh, I wouldn’t think a farm-fox so jittery…  _ "What's the matter, Bangs, is it because Bo's got a six-pack and you've got a keg?" asked the taller fox while leaning on the counter, "That doesn't mean you should think any less of yourself.  Look at me, I'm a twig," Nick then gestured to his own physique, "I have to run around when it’s raining to get wet."

"N-n-no, it's not  _ that _ , I jus'… I'll get your shirt done first and  _ then  _ I'll do mine," he said, squirting a bit too much dish soap directly onto the spot to then scrub with gusto.  "This’ll help get it clean. I learned how ‘cause I got cooking oil on my sleeves  _ all _ the time; that's why I roll 'em up."

"Sensible," replied Nick,  _ I imagine you keep your pants clean by pulling them down before using the toilet, too. _  He studied the baker a moment and then smirked, "You must have a really embarrassing tattoo, huh?  You know, it's only dyed fur, shave it off and it'll grow back in a few weeks."

"I don't have… I mean, this morning jus' kinda _happened_ , a one-time thing, but we had a good laugh about it, right?" he rambled, extrapolating on a lengthy string of disjointed talking points while scrubbing harder, fiercer, feverishly on the shirt until it _ripped_ , he cursing with a harsh yelp of inward annoyance, "Gosh, Nick, I'm _so_ sorry, I didn't mean to… If you need to borrow-"

"Bangs,  _ relax _ ," assured Nick with a quick pat on the shoulder (invoking a violent recoil), "it's an old shirt, I have more, and this'll make a decent dishrag."

Gideon did recover, gradually and with muttering-laced chuckles, still lamenting the torn shirt before balling it up and tossing it into a nearby bucket.

_ Jeez, what’s eating this guy…  _ "This means you're starting on  _ your _ shirt now, right?" Nick tested.  Gideon froze like he did in the shower, as if completely vulnerable before the taller fox.   _ Whatever you're bashful about can't possibly be that bad _ , he speculated, a quirked brow and wry smile a downy challenge that the stouter fox could still deny.  However, the frown on his face and the lump in his throat spoke volumes about how cornered he felt, not solely by Nick, perhaps, but a blatant inner turmoil.

"I-I-I guess  _ so _ , huh…?" Gideon admitted, at last, shuffling his feet to face Nick.  His paws trembled as he tugged at the top button, gazing down at it, his breath shallow and slow until it finally popped open.  His looked up to check on Nick but found that he was practically lounging against the counter, glancing off to some other direction in patient nonchalance.  Gideon continued downward, checking less and less as more and more buttons opened.

"There,  _ see _ ?" said Nick as Gideon wrung his paws around his shirt, "That wasn't  _ so  _ bad, was it?   Also, it looks like you got oil on your undershirt; probably not a bad idea to take  _ that _ one off, too."

Gideon muted a whimper.

“Right?”

“Y-…” he squeakily tried, “Yeah…?”

Nick flicked his paw in a permitting gesture but Gideon remained petrified.  “It’s just us here, no bunnies, no old cow… just us foxes… just  _ me _ ,” he assured in that easy air, “And…  _ hey _ , we might be cousins, after all… and if you can’t trust family, who  _ can _ you trust?”

Blue eyes wavered… and then the head from which they stared bobbed once in a nod.  The flannel shirt was set down on the counter (line of sight never once broken) before he reached back and tugged at the collar of his shirt, his breath quickening as it began to engulf his head an inch up his torso, showing the pudge above his waistband.  Gideon held his breath as the fabric bunched up behind his ears and then  _ tugged  _ it as quickly as he could so that it bunched in front of his shoulders, instead.

Nick remained wholly calm, even canting his head and arching his eyebrows until the garment was removed in entirety.   _ I probably should’ve stopped this several racing heartbeats ago but… bend my tail, if I haven’t seen such an obvious cry-for-help thousands of times before…   _ “In my professional opinion, Bangs, I’d say you have absolutely _ nothing _ to be shy about,” Nick outwardly mused.

"I… I guess  _ not _ , huh?" Gideon ceded with some of  _ the  _ most forced chuckles Nick ever had the discomfort to hear, that awkward grin pinching at the corners of his lips as he shakily set his second shirt onto the nearby counter, every precaution taken to keep his chest facing the other fox.

"Now, give us a turn and we'll see what you're so worried about," Nick said, gesturing with a twirl of his finger,  _ Nothing on the front, but then, you weren't hiding your belly this morning, were you? _  Gideon froze, stiffly shaking his head, so Nick quirked his brow higher.  "Look, whatever's back there I  _ promise  _ I won't tell anyone, okay?  Cross my heart," and drew an 'X' over his chest.

The stouter fox finally whimpered some relenting affirmation and pivoted ever-so-slowly, smoothing his shirt out to busy himself.  Deciding to meet him halfway, Nick stepped around to Gideon's back for inspection.  _ There's nothing here, except an obvious need for a trim, _ he observed, leaning in and squinting in the dim light, his nocturnal eyes compensating adequately,  _ Some minor discoloration, but nothing weird, except how tense Gideon is. _  He glanced down at the curled tail,  _ Its puff-o-meter is cranked to 11… time to diffuse this situation. _

"Ahh, I  _ see _ ..." he began, and before Gideon's fur could stand even more on end, he quickly continued, "There is this… spare tire!" and then clapped the stouter fox's love handles.  Gideon breathed sharply, paws gripping the nearest solid object for dear life as he loosed a shrill, extended string of rapid-fire, uncontrollable guffaws.  _ Oh, thank goodness, _ begged Nick as he kept at it, tickling the rotund sides until Gideon rolled on the floor, arms tucked in to protect from the onslaught.  The muttered phrases "I hate you!" and "I hate you so much!" were disproved by the enveloping merriment.

Nick vaulted back and edged towards the door as Gideon immediately sprung to his feet with fangs and claws, "I'mma kill you dead, Stretch," he warned through heaves and panting.

"You'll have to catch me, first," Nick teased, swishing his tail and whipping out the door, pursuit hot on his heels.  He was chased around the van, ducking around one corner and then doubling back, springing around to blindside the riled Gideon for a tail-tug.  A mad dash broke out towards the woodland at the end of the lot, laughter echoing through the air.

"You get back here so I can kill you!" demanded Gideon.

"That's not how incentive works!" countered Nick, hurdling the lower rung of the fence between the woods and the lot.  He dashed into the carpet of foliage and twisting roots of the twilight tree line for several yards before looking over his shoulder to the barely visible, Bunnyburrow sky beyond the canopy, but saw no sign of Gideon.  He stopped to regain his breath, realizing that he'd run into a firefly-lit area he'd never been before. "Bangs?" he asked of no one and pivoted to return to the empty lot when he was tackled to the leafy ground.

"Looks like I gotcha, Stretch, 'cause you can't outrun  _ me _ in these here woods," he growled, pinning the slenderer fox to the ground with curled lips and bared fangs.  He opened his jaws to close them again around Nick's nose and chin, but only for an instant. After a smug smirk, he sprung with agility unbefitting his portly physique and darted back, roaring in laughter.

"Hey!" called Nick, clambering to his feet and running after his adversary, "I get to bite you back, that's how this works!"

"Not if I touch the van!" Gideon declared, hopping the fence and dashing with all his strength.

"No fair, making up rules!"

"Cry cry, baby foxy!"

Nick held the advantage in a straight run, closing the gap as soon as he touched the empty lot, but Gideon's head-start was substantial.  Both foxes leaped in the last few yards, the stouter reaching for the bumper at a long dive while the taller pounced at a sharp angle. In a cloud of dust, the two slid an extra few inches with Nick the one pinning.

"I got the tire, you can't bite me," mocked Gideon, and indeed, his paws clamped around the rubber wheel.

"That doesn't count," huffed Nick, crossing his arms.

"It's part of the van, ain't it?"

"Well, I still get to bite you because I caught you before you touched the van."

"Nuh-uh, you can't bite me after I touched the van, that's what I said."

"Don't make me tickle you again," warned Nick.

"Get off me!" Gideon guffawed, bucking him to the side before rolling to his feet, extending a paw to aid Nick.  Both foxes laughed as they clapped dust off themselves.

"I'm hungry, are you hungry?"

"I'm starving," announced Gideon, "so tonight, we're having stir fry."

" _ Ooh _ , is there a  Bamboo Paradise nearby, and if so, can we also get wontons?" asked Nick as they walked around the van, to the stairs leading up to the apartment.

"Nope, I'm making it myself," Gideon revealed, ducking first into the bakery's kitchen to pull close and secure the door.

"Right, how can you want to cook anything after today?"

"I guess I'm in a real good mood right now," beamed the stouter fox, twirling his keys around a finger and climbing the stairs up to his apartment door, unlocking the passageway to his bachelor den and the promise of dinner beyond, "but first, a shirt."

"Yes, we wouldn't want to give Bo any more credence than he already has," Nick remarked, heading into the bathroom to search for one of his scruffier shirts, and change out for a cleaner pair of pants.  In the solitude of the bathroom, Nick took a moment to think while clapping dust from his tail into the tub.  _ Why's Gideon so nervous about his back, anyway?  Sure, he's pudgy, but he's no Benjamin Clawhauser, and it shows more on his front anyway.  Maybe he simply doesn't like others behind him… he did say he was teased as a kit, it's possible he was traumatized by others sneaking up on him.  Enough of that over a long period of time would make anyone jumpy. _

Nick pulled on some lounging clothes and walked out into the living room, hearing the sounds of kitchen-based preparation.  Before Nick made himself known, he stood in front of the couch, but out of sight to study the family picture on the wall. At first glance, it was clear where Gideon's bangs came from, the paternal fox boasted a shaggy pair that hung past his uniquely dark muzzle,  _ 'Goliath', huh? _ he pondered, only now fully grasping the sheer size of Gideon's father,  _ That's an earned name if I ever heard one. _

Goliath looked undeniably a fox stretched out to the size of a wolf, especially the paws big enough to cover young Gideon's torso.   _ Were they ever raised in anger, I wonder…? _  He recalled a particular class in ZPD training, nicknamed the "Bad-Touch" class, which taught cadets to recognize signs of physical abuse and violence by touch since most mammals have fur thick enough to hide scars and bruises; Nick suddenly lamented slacking in those lessons.

He returned to the portrait on the wall, eyes following around the family until he saw who, he reasoned, was young Esther.   _ She certainly takes more after her father, look at those bangs,  _ he thought, _ and those ears, the arms, the eyes… nose…  Hmm, not much of Ruth in her, is there? _ Nick stepped up to get a closer look, but also into line-of-sight from the kitchen.   _ Gangly sort, isn't she, doesn't look anything like her mother…? _

"You said you wanted wontons, Stretch?" interrupted Gideon's voice.

"By what sorcery are you making wontons?" asked Nick, quickly pivoting as though in mid-step.

"Evil most foul; promised my firstborn for the recipe."

"Well, they'll be waiting a long while on payment, won't they?" said the taller fox, halting in the entryway to gawk at the golden pile of stir-fried rice.   _ Sweet heavens… _

" _ Haha _ , you're funny.  Before you sit down, you'd best set the table," instructed Gideon, wearing a clean shirt but still in his jeans, "Dinner with the Greys ain't a spectator sport."

"Ugh,  _ work _ ," groaned Nick, hovering over the chair before standing back up.  He pointed his finger to recall where he saw his host stash the dishes, "So that's Ruth and Goliath over the couch, is it?"

"Yep," chuckled Gideon, pulling out the wontons from their oily dip to set them on a dripping tray, "I call 'em 'Ma' and 'Pa', though, a bit more convenient for me."

"For Esther as well, I imagine.  She certainly takes after your father."

"Tha's 'cause she takes after  _ only _ him; we're half-siblings, Essy and me," Gideon explained, taking out a serving spoon to scoop from the steaming stack, into the bowls Nick retrieved.

"Oh… is this an awkward subject or…?"

"Not even a bit," Gideon assured, pulling a chair to sit down as Nick did the same, "We come to the understandin' that there's more to family than blood.  'Sides, we both got Pa, and Ma was Esther's wet-nurse, so we might as well be siblings." He then grinned mischievously, "Unless you and me really  _ are _ cousins, then maybe we can make an exception if you take a fancy to her."

" _ Mmh _ ," moaned Nick, gasping as he swallowed his first bite of the stir-fried rice, eyes rolled up into his skull, "Nope, it's settled, we're tying the knot right after dinner, cousins or not," and proceeded to shovel rice into his mouth.

"And what about the dessert?" Gideon managed amid laughter, a paw covering his mouth to catch any flying grains of rice, "I have a peach pie in there I haven't cut into yet."

"Bring it, we'll make it a wedding pie," Nick said, finishing up his bowl and thrusting it over the table, "right after this next helping."

"Alright, Stretch, slow down or you're gonna choke," he said, standing up to scoop some more.

"You're right, Dad would flay me alive if he found out I was wed without one of his suits," Nick realized, accepting the new bowl of flavorful rice, "and there's still the issue of the commute.  I'd spend all my time going back and forth from the precinct, I'd have hardly any time to enjoy this delicious food."

"Well, at least you changed your mind before leaving me at the altar," Gideon said with feigned lament, "that'd've broken my heart."

"And then you'd never,  _ ever _ speak to me again?"

"I'd certainly never, ever  _ cook  _ for you again."

"Whoa,  _ whoa _ ," Nick said, paws up in feigned concern, "let's not joke about that."

"I don't think I'm ready to settle down anyway," said Gideon as he rose from his chair, and then turned to fetch a pair of brews from the fridge, "So we'll have to settle for a bond of brotherhood, or something."  He popped the caps and handed one bottle to Nick, readily standing to accept it.

"We should say a toast," pondered Nick, "I think that's how this works."

"Alright, umm…" Gideon began, "To trust, no matter if you're a bunny or a fox."

"To friends," continued Nick, "who don't keep you in a box."

"To… good food," said Gideon, and then catching the cue, he recalled a tavern toast he heard a while ago, "may it never lack?"

"To family," he clinked the neck of his bottle with Gideon's, "that always has your back."

Gideon brightened.

"Cheers," said Nick, and swigged his drink.

"Cheers," replied Gideon, and did the same, "So, I think that makes us brothers, now?"

"I think that makes us musketeers."

* * *

A knock on the door disturbed an otherwise quiet evening of television for Nick and Gideon.  The dishes were washed, leftovers stored for later consumption, and a double feature of "Wail of the Bunshee" and "The Pharabbit's Curse" aired on the  Animalia Movie Classics .  Gideon thought little of the interruption, lowering the television's volume before rising to accept the visitor, but Nick wasn't so sure.

"Are you  _ expecting _ anyone this late?" he asked in a quiet tone and stern expression.

"If worse comes to worst, there's always a cop in shouting distance," he replied.

"Cute, Bangs, but I can't make my gear appear out of thin air."

"There's a shotgun behind the couch if your danger sense is tingling," Gideon explained quite casually, "but it's not late enough to be 'this late' yet, so I ain't too worried."

_ Since when was there a shotgun behind the couch? _ Nick wondered, turning about in his seat so to peer down the back of the furniture.   _ Well, I'll be darned, there it is.  Hope it's registered, I'd hate for this whole bonding thing to turn sour because of something like illegal firearm possession.  That looks like a… yep, that's a  _ _ Wincheetah _ _ , big gauge, too _ .  Nick reached down to pull it closer, not fully from behind the couch but enough to give it the once-over,  _ Safety's on, loaded but not in the chamber, look like he takes care of it, at least, and the serial's not scratched off.  He's even got a "Property of…" label on here.  _ The door opened while Nick inspected the firearm, so he set it  _ carefully _ back into its hiding spot.

"Well, hey, Essy!" came Gideon's voice, "I didn't think to find you on  _ my _ doorstep, of all places.  What brings you around?"

Nick's ears flicked as he leaned in his seat ever-so-slightly,  _ The infamous Esther Grey, _ he thought, trying to get a look at her from around his host's bulk, yet failing.

"Oh, you know, missed the first train, lost my hotel reservation, no available rooms," she said, her voice unmistakably tired, but she covered it admirably, "I took some pictures of 'no foxes' signs, so I'll have some fun with that when I get back to the office.  I don't suppose you have a vacancy? Ma and Pa are on their cruise, and of course, they locked everything up tight as a clam."

"Yeah, they might've left an extra key if you house-sat for 'em," he hinted of a gloat.

"I found a  _ very  _ good deal on a hotel room, and I didn't think I would need to… you know what, I'm tired, okay?" she said, and Gideon's tail swept behind him in anticipation, "You were  _ right _ Giddy, I  _ should've _ offered to house sit while they were away.  There, happy?"

"Well, gosh, if I was  _ right _ about something that you  _ disagreed _ on, that'd make you…?"

"That would make me  _ wrong _ ," she mumbled.

"Sorry, Essy, what was that?  I couldn't hear you from  _ all _ the way outside."

She took a deep breath, "I was  _ wrong _ .  Can I come in now?"

"Sure thing, you hungry?  I'll heat up dinner," Gideon said with a cheery tone, grabbing her suitcase and stepping away from the door to let her enter.  "Nick, this is my sister Esther; Essy, this is Nick," he introduced, albeit succinctly.

"Giddy!  You did that to me in front of your friend?" she asked with indignation, stepping into view as the definitions of "disheveled" and "rushed".  As Nick suspected, she was tall, probably taller than Gideon, but her height was due to a pair of long legs uncommon to any fox he ever knew. Unlike her younger self, gangly as she was, this mature version filled out with athletic muscle, and unlike a certain bodybuilding rabbit, she retained the fox's iconic slenderness.  And then there were her bangs, fruitlessly tucked behind ears that put her height well over her brother's (when they were up).

"To be fair," Nick began as he stood, "we've only been friends since yesterday, so we're practically strangers.  Nick, Nick Wilde, pleasures all around, I'm sure," he said, extending a paw in greeting. She seemed stuck, long ears jutting forward so that her bangs fell careless about her wide, blue eyes; much like Gideon's eyes.   _ Uncanny _ , thought Nick,  _ everyone I'm introduced to today seems paralyzed when they see me.  If I could but harness this newfound power, imagine how quickly I'd rise through the ranks of the ZPD. _

"Yes, hello, 'Nick' was it?  I do recall your face, now, as it so happens," she finally managed, slipping into (almost) flawless nonchalance and a (somewhat) clumsy handshake, "Likewise, pleasures and all that.  If you'll excuse me? I must  _ discuss  _ something with my brother."  Nick stepped out of the way and gesturing with a polite wave of his paw that she might pass.  He made to sit down as she walked stiffly over to the kitchen, but the instant she was out of sight Nick sprung up to skulk over to the entryway, ears up and keen while staying hidden.  "Why is  _ Nick Wilde _ in your living room, Giddy?" came a harsh whisper under the hum of a microwave.

"Oh," replied a deeper, calmer whisper, "him bein' here ain't a  _ problem, _ is it?  I would've said something if you called, ya'know."

"Literally  _ thousands _ of foxes in Zootopia, and you have  _ him _ ?   _ Why _ is he anywhere  _ near _ your apartment?"

"I seem to recall something about you and a 'Nick Wilde', now what was it…"

"Giddy…"

"That's  _ right _ , you've got yourself something of a crush, don'tcha?" he said.  Nick could  _ hear _ his smug grin.  "Well, he's only gonna be here for the next day or so, but now that I think about it, he  _ did _ say he might stick around for when Ma and Pa come back from their trip."

"If you breathe of a  _ word _ of it to  _ any _ one…"

"Don't worry, sis, I ain't a blabbermouth."  The microwave dinged and Nick scampered silently back to the couch, watching the nearly muted horror flick still on the television.

_ Ahh, the sweet sound of fox siblings bantering, _ chuckled Nick, though inwardly,  _ Makes me wish I had a brother or sister of my own to cross swords with.   _ He then thought to Finnick and their "clash of wits",  _ He was a bit more at-my-throat than I'd've liked, but I can't deny, I certainly learned how to deal with short fuses.   _ Glancing up, he saw Gideon approach the couch.  "I'd say you enjoyed that," Nick commented in a low voice.

"I waited  _ years _ for that, Stretch, you have no idea," he said with a heavy flop, as though it took all his mental faculty to win one on his sister.  "A warm meal and she'll be fine, probably had this whole conversation mapped out, anyway."

"You can 'smell her schemes a mile away', as I recall," he pointed out.

"And I know when her plans fall through; this was a big one."

"Evened out the scoreboard, did we?"

"Not even close," Gideon sadly chuckled, "she's still got a triple-digit lead.  I'd need grandkits before she even gets a boyfriend to close  _ that  _ gap."

"So she's a free agent, then."

"You could say that, sure," faltered the stouter fox, his attention went back to the television, finger tapping on the volume to up it a few notches.  His eyes darted once to Nick and then to the screen.

"You're an open book, Bangs," Nick explained, smirking with amusement.

"Alright, I'll say this: you and she would get along  _ great _ ," he said with a huff, "but heaven knows if I'll ever catch up going against the  _ both _ of you."

"We're musketeers, remember?  All for one,  _ et cetera _ ."  Nick then clapped his shoulder and though it wasn't  _ as _ obvious as it was earlier in the night, Nick thought he felt a trembling flinch all the same.  Gideon flatly smiled at him with a furrowed brow and the taller fox returned to his side of the couch after a soft chuckle.

"Well, kits," Esther said some many minutes later, walking out from the kitchen, "it's been a long,  _ tiring  _ day, so you'll understand if we catch up tomorrow."

"Certainly," agreed Nick as Gideon turned off the TV, "We'll swap 'long days' over waffles topped with blueberries."

"Waffles again?" commented the stouter fox, "I can make other breakfasts."

" _ Shh! _  Esther doesn't know that."

"Is your cot still in the closet, Giddy?" she asked, eager to get back to the idea of sleep.

"Naw, I threw that away months ago; the canvass was beyond  _ any  _ hope of repair."

"Do you have an air mattress, then, or something akin to it?"

"No," he explained, "it's not like I have others over too often, ya'know."  A heavy silence of realization enveloped the three foxes, and Esther's face formed the slyest grin Nick ever had the horror to witness.

"Well, then," she began, any trace of exhaustion gone like wisps of smoke in a gale as she bent over to pick up her suitcase, and turned on a heel to strut towards Gideon's room, "Since there should still be a bed-for-two out  _ here _ , and a bed-for-one in  _ there _ , I will bid you both a  _ very _ good night."  The baker's face fell as he deflated on the couch, one-upped in his moment of glory.  "Oh, Nick?" she said with a nod towards her brother, before disappearing through the door, "he's a snuggler."

"I am  _ not _ !"

* * *

He was.

Of all the awkward situations Nick faced in the preceding twenty-four hours or week, none compared to the degree of discomfort he currently found himself.  From a previous observation, Gideon slept like a rock, albeit a quiet one, but sometime during the night, Nick awoke to an arm pinned against his chest and the other over his head, courtesy of  _ another  _ set of arms locked around him.  There was no talking his way out of it, either, not a hustle, trick, or negotiation could save him, and his strength was not enough to pry off some dozens of pounds of hugging strength bolted to his torso.  Any attempts to wiggle free met a tighter hold and when Nick decided to bite the bullet by waking Gideon through voice alone it, too, proved in vain.

"Well, ain't so clever  _ now _ are we-"

_ Will you go away! _ Nick fumed, glaring at the adjacent hallucination lounging in  _ his  _ boxer shorts,  _ I have more 'Gideon' than I can handle without  _ you  _ here! _

"Rude," he scoffed, turning onto his side to face Nick, and in doing so, turned more than simple positioning, "I guess I'll have to be the  _ fairer _ one in this conversation," she said.  Where once was half-naked chubbiness mere inches away, instead lay Esther in Nick's brand new purple, silk tailored shirt;  _ only _ the shirt.

_ Fine _ , answered Nick after a considerable pause,  _ What do you want?  I already solved your stupid riddle, and the whipped cream problem isn't a problem anymore. _

"Oh, Stretch," she cooed, "this isn't your victory lap, heck, the light isn't even green, yet."

Nick's brow furrowed for a different reason.  He reached down to brace Gideon's steel-lock grip in an attempt to better face his persistent antagonist and counted off the ways he was tired of their shenanigans.   _ Okay, first off, you're a figment of my imagination, so you only know what I know.  Secondly, I can't see the future, I barely see past lunchtime. And third, how can you even  _ assume  _ that's there more to this when I've been in Bunnyburrow a grand total of twenty-four hours? _

"Well, that's irony for you," she said, finger curled in a bang, "You don't even know what you know or don't.  I guess it hasn't reached the thinking part of your brain, yet."

_ That's swell, say, how about you be useful for once and tell me what  _ great deduction  _ my subconscious wants me to know about. _

"Okay, you ready, Basil?  Get ready to have your  _ mind _ blown," she began, "you had your paws all over the wrong 'Grey'," finished 'Dawson', indeed, because he lounged in boxer shorts once again, but in the same provocative position.

Nick flailed and growled to clap his claws around the  _ faux _ fox's throat, ignoring the tightened grip, but the hallucination was gone.  He forced himself to relax so that Gideon would loosen and allow air back into his lungs,  _ My paws weren't 'all over' him, I was tickling him, there's a big difference _ .  Nick blinked, looking down at the 'snuggler' nearly curled into him, and braced a paw to his forearm to wriggle about as carefully as he could.   _ Let's see here…  _ pondered Nick, reaching over with his free arm to the best of his ability and brushed at the very tip of an ear.  It flicked.  _ Well, I'll be, there's movement, now let's see how much more I can get out of him _ .

He kept at it, reaching a claw-tip inside to graze the tender fuzz.  Gideon let slip a sleepy giggle and shrugged his shoulder, giving Nick enough slack to tug his arm free.   _ Going well so far _ , he considered.  With his newly reacquired appendage, Nick was at liberty to reach for more ticklish spots but knew full well to only tickle the minimal amount needed to regain his freedom.  The stouter fox giggled again as Nick continued, and with a particularly high laugh, Gideon's grip released so each could roll to opposite sides of the flat mattress.

_ Guy's got a mean hug, _ thought Nick, sitting up to roll his shoulders.  There slept Gideon, arms wrapped about himself and, unlike the strong-yet-gentle hold he had around Nick, his claws scraped at his own pelt.   _ Ohh… _ he realized,  _ a bit more anxious than I thought.  Alright, umm… here, snuggle up to this _ , Nick grabbed his pillow to set against the slumbering fox's folded arms, which embraced it readily.  Seated back on his ankles, Nick studied his bedfellow, tapping a finger on a knee as he recalled what he could from the "Bad-Touch" classes in basic training, and then glanced up at the family portrait depicting Goliath's enormous paws.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he set his palm to Gideon's shoulder, and began to sift through the untrimmed fur beneath the sleeve.  Almost immediately, he felt scar tissue,  _ How did I miss this? _ he wondered,  _ Well, I tickled with the tips of my claws, of course, but still…  It's all down his arms, too _ , what he could reach around the hugged pillow.  Tugging at the undershirt, the felt up-and-down Gideon's back,  _ These can't be claw marks, there's no uniformity at all, and most of these he couldn't possibly reach, so they're not self-inflicted.  Maybe some kind of whip or switch, but he said his Ma didn't spank with anything except her paws, and I doubt he'd joke about that. Unless Goliath got some discipline in on the side, opting for an implement, but even then, this much scar tissue can't be from discipline alone; this is practically torture. _

Releasing the shirt, Nick reclined against the couch with a heavy sigh,  _ That's a real nasty past you got back there, Gid, I wouldn't want anyone finding out about it, either.  Don't worry, I won't dig too far; you're keeping it secret for a reason, and I respect that. Sleep tight, big guy, _ he smiled and rubbed the top of Gideon's head, finally getting the chance to muss up those bangs of his.  Nick's blood ran colder than it ever did that day when he felt beneath that thicker fur, tracing down the center of his skull and to the back of his neck, following around to the sides of Gideon's face,  _ These… these are muzzle scars… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Nick, just never one mystery to solve, is there? My original intention was not to make Nick and Gideon cousins, I'll admit, but... well, there are no mistakes, only happy surprises; one of those things that pops up in writing that pauses an author to consider the validity and story behind it all... And might I say, I do like that story, yes indeed. Let's find out more~
> 
> Mrs. Clarabelle Wincow was originally "Mrs. Clara Belle", based off the character Clarabelle Cow; I decided to change her name to "Clarabelle Wincow", in reference to her current voice actress, April Winchell.
> 
> The "Animalia Movie Classics" is Zootopia's analogy of "American Movie Classics". In the original story, this was "Animalia Movie Channel"... and then I looked up what "AMC" stood for and corrected myself.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry for the unannounced, two-week hiatus, it's been a busy month so far.)
> 
> Don't get too close  
> Don't stay too far  
> I'll tell you, in time,  
> But know you are  
> Exactly where I   
> Need you to be.  
> So please, I ask,  
> Just wait for me...

Nick sat curled against the arm of the couch, paw over his face and tail tucked around his feet as he stared at Gideon's head with the dark memories etched into its flesh.  His own experience with a muzzle was brief but it haunted him still, and he didn't have any physical scars to remember it by.  _ My gosh… what happened to you, Gideon?  There's no way Goliath did this, not the way your voice goes up when you talk about him. _

_ Dawson? _ Nick asked, looking about for the hallucination,  _ Any thoughts?  Comments? Quips?  I could really use someone to chat with right now, if you're available, maybe bounce some ideas around with my trusty subconscious; that'd be great.  Hello? I'll let you wear my new suit, I think I remember what it should look like. No? Fine, be that way, don't be useful.  _ He rolled off the fold-out bed and walked around to the kitchen table, sitting like a sack of potatoes into a sturdy chair.

"Nick?" said a soft voice, and he lifted his head from his palms to find Esther approaching the other end of the table if in a shirt he didn't recognize.  He smiled cordially and gestured to the chair opposite of him.

"Can't sleep, either?" he wagered, weaving his fingers in a bridge to rest his chin on.

"I guess I'm too tired to sleep, kind of hitting my second wind, maybe my third.  Never was as deep a sleeper as my brother; always envied that about him. I see he's got your pillow in a death-grip?" she observed, slipping into the offered seat with a quiet scrape of wood on tile.

"Brave little guy took one for the team," Nick replied, and then looked down at himself when he realized he only wore his scant sleeping attire, "Excuse my casual dress, I couldn't find a  _ thing _ to wear on such short notice."

"Nothing I haven't seen hundreds of times before," she giggled, "Pa and Giddy walked around the house in their skivvies for the longest time, especially in the summer; Ma never let me, said it wasn't 'proper for a vixen' and put a quick stop to their 'parading about' when I got older.  Mothers are the weirdest things, aren't they."

"You mean to tell me that  _ Gideon Grey _ went about without a  _ shirt _ ?" Nick said with feigned incredulity.

"I swear on Ma's apple cobbler, it's the truth," she clapped a paw over her heart and raised the other in the air as though to take an oath, "Believe it or not, he once swam, ran, and climbed without a single shirt, sometimes only his fur, but when puberty hit he got all self-conscious.  It's like he's bright pink and polka-dotted under all those shirts, the way he carries on."

"So I'm not the only one to notice that," Nick remarked in amusement, "I figured it was some unsightly tattoo or birthmark, but it's all the same respectable red any fox has."

"Well, on his shoulders, sure,  _ I _ can see that.  It's probably low on his back if anything."

"Nope, nothing from the waist up except the desperate need for a trim," he explained, and then inwardly cringed,  _ I shouldn't have said that; it's bad enough Bo's got the wrong idea, I don't need Esther thinking it too.  Egad, I really hope this isn't part of that newfound power, I don't need that kind of awkwardness _ .

Her wide eyes and furrowed brow studied Nick from across the table.  "You saw Giddy without his shirt?"

"Well, sure," he began,  _ As I am in it up to my neck, I'd best take great care when I open my mouth, so mentioning the shower is out, _ "Earlier today, I was helping him downstairs in the kitchen when clumsy me spilled some cooking oil; it got on our shirts, so we took them off for the wash."

"Did he take his shirt off in  _ front of you _ ?" she asked, eyes wider still.

_ This isn't going well _ , "I mean, it took some cajoling, you know, friendly ribbing, light teasing, but after some rational, logical points I convinced him that taking off his shirt wouldn't be the end of the world.  Sure, his back could use a trim, as I said, but hey, he's a bachelor; he's allowed to be unkempt, right?"

"You saw his  _ back _ without a shirt?" her eyes nearly popped from their sockets.

_ Abort, abort!   _ "Look, Essy -- may I call you 'Essy'? -- there's  _ nothing _ back there,  _ I _ was hardly back there, it was only a quick inspection to let him know that everything was hunky-dory, not a single thing to worry about.  Peace of mind is what it was, that's all."

"You didn't  _ tickle _ him, did you?" she asked in a hushed, nervous tone.

_ [Expletive], _ "No, no no… well, yes, but only a little and  _ only _ because he was about to jump out of his fur.  He would've made a  _ thing _ about it and then an entire day of friendship and bonding would be  _ wasted _ ; simply terrible.  He looked like he needed a good laugh, is all."

"I knew I heard him giggle jus' now…" Esther said, though more to herself, eyes cast to the table in introspection and cupping her mouth in a palm.  Nick edged from his seat ever-so-quietly, wondering if he could make a break for the door with his suitcase before she looked up again. "You made him giggle, didn't you, just a few minutes ago?"

"Maybe?" grasped Nick, "Could've been gas escaping, or a dream?  It might've been a dream, a  _ very _ happy dream."

"Or very happy gas escaping," she snapped, arms crossed over her chest and under a frown, "Nick, I'm serious."  Her expression softened to a plea, "I know I heard him laugh, something I'd never thought I'd hear again, other than his awkward or polite chuckling.  Was that you?"

_ Oh, okay, there's something else going on here, _ "Alright,  _ alright _ , yes, that was because of me," he relented, sighing back into his chair, "He 'snuggled' me into an uncomfortable position, and I had to tickle him to let up.  I tried everything else aside from hitting him, but I doubt even  _ that  _ would’ve work.  Now," he said, folding his paws on the table and leaning forward,  _ Reversal time, Ms. Grey _ , "why is him laughing such a big thing?"

She loosed a heavy sigh of her own, arms crossed on the table and hunching, head down so her bangs nearly touched the surface.  "I suppose I owe you that much. Like me, Giddy was one of the only foxes in his class at the time, so when he got the fox-flu he was a prime target for a group of bunnies that made his life miserable.  No matter what he did or how he did it, he did it wrong and they never held back in telling him so. I tried to defend him when I could, but they only came back worse when I wasn't around.

"So, Giddy went to school with a box full of tissues and came home with a bag full of snotty paper.  He could hardly breathe much less play games, and he was disruptive to the teacher with his constant sniffing and nose-blowing.  They held him back a year because it affected his grades so much. Giddy was strong, though, but it was never so bad that he had to stay home." She tilted her head at Nick's quirked brow, and sighed again, "When  _ I _ got the fox-flu, it turned into pneumonia, so I was bedridden for a month.  When Giddy got it, we thought he could tough it out, like Pa said he could. I don't think Giddy would  _ let _ himself stay home, not when Pa said he could do it."

"Sounds like he really looked up to him."

"Oh, he  _ idolized _ Pa, thought he was the biggest and the strongest in the whole world.  And Pa acted accordingly, never raising his voice or a fist in anger, treating others with respect,  _ knowing _ that Giddy was always watching him, copying him in every way.  He was a calm, stoic guy, our Pa, except when it came to carpentry and soccer.  'He worked hard, he played hard', that's what he used to say, always watched it on TV, kicked the ball around with Giddy and me…  Did you know that when Giddy was really young, he was  _ convinced _ the moon was a soccer ball that Pa kicked into the sky each night?"

"That's quite a lot of moons to launch into orbit," Nick said patiently.

"Well, you'd  _ think _ so," she giggled, "but Giddy said that Pa could reach up and pluck the moon from the sky, so he could kick it around all day.  He honestly thought that's what Pa did. I think it was because he was already gone before dawn and came back after sunset."

"Getting back to the topic at hand," said Nick, leaning back in his chair and tapping his chin, "Bunny bullies make their own worst enemy by pushing young Gideon to the breaking point, and then he starts 'punching teeth in'."

"Right, right, sorry.  As best I can figure, Giddy liked it or felt justified by it, either way, he was sly in his bullying, and it was never so bad that it left marks; took me forever to even catch on to what he was doing, but I was already out of grade school by then so it wasn't necessarily on my radar," she sounded frustrated, drumming her fingers on the table, "I can't and won't excuse how he acted back then, but he wasn't always like that.  Heck, Judy even tried to stand up for him when he was being picked on, but that didn't help any more than when  _ I _ did it; if anything it was  _ worse _ because she was a bunny and smaller than him.  I don't think he ever really forgave her for that."

"And then fast forward to the day he…"  Nick then pantomimed claws on his left cheek.

Esther nodded and took another deep breath before continuing.  "I was at the Carrot Days Festival with my friends that day, when I heard Pa yell Giddy's name sometime in the late afternoon."

"You lived near the fairgrounds, huh?"

"No…" she hesitated, fingers twiddling in the manner reminiscent of Gideon, "but I'm pretty sure the whole Burrow heard it."

His chair leaned forward with a dull thunk, "You're not exaggerating."

"Pa was  _ really _ mad when he found out what happened to Judy," she said, "It felt like every rabbit ear was up and turned towards our house.  All I wanted to do was sink down into the ground for the rest of the day, but I knew I had to go back home, too. When I got there, I saw Giddy standing at the end of the driveway as far as he could be but still see the house.  I don't think I’d ever seen him so scared, but I was his big sister, so I marched him up to the front door to face Pa, as a fox should.

"I was mad at him at the time, too, because whatever he did pulled me away from my friends, and I felt humiliated by hearing his name shouted across sky," her finger tapped at the table thoughtfully, "Anyway, we finally made it inside, and there were these older rabbits sitting in Pa's chair, all nice and neat in a row, drinking tea from Ma's best cups.  They were a very dignified sort, but I’d ever seen them before. They said they were to discuss what to do about Giddy and all of his bullying. So, Pa told me to go 'play outside' like I was some  _ kit _ , and Ma protested, too, but when Pa's serious, he's  _ really _ serious."

"It sounds like this whole situation was quite 'serious'."

"No doubt about that, Nick," she continued with a calming huff, "So, I went and sat at the yard's fence, straining to hear anything I could."

"To no avail."

"I couldn't even tell you what those old rabbits sounded like.  It felt like  _ hours _ , Nick, some of the longest of my life; but those long-eared geezers finally walked out, so I ran in as quick as I could.  Everyone was sad because Giddy was getting sent to some kind of 'therapy' early the next morning. I can't deny, those three weeks mellowed him out considerably, but that was when he got so bashful about himself, about everything.  And bless his heart, he  _ tried _ to hide his stuttering, but it's like he came back a different fox; I only wish I knew what they did to him."

_ I think I have an idea _ , Nick realized, and it churned his stomach, "He hasn't laughed since?"

"No," she lamented, "not really, anyway.  They always seem scared, or hollow. Like he  _ has _ to laugh, not because he  _ wants _ to.  He didn't hurt anyone after that, it's true, but he didn't  _ do _ much of anything.  Wouldn't run around, wouldn't kick a ball; whatever few friends he still had kind of drifted away… it broke Pa's heart."

"And then 'Ma' came in and showed him the joys of baking."

"That she did, Blue, and Giddy took to it like a fish to water.  Ma said he was still holding onto some aggression, and baking was an outlet for it; she had it in her mind that the 'therapy' only got him to bottle it in, rather than actually  _ dealing _ with it.  As it turns out, she found little specks of blood in his sheets, on account of scratching himself at night."  She sighed with guilt and leaned her head back, before looking forward, "I'm sorry I lied to you, Nick; I know why he's nervous about his back.  It's covered in claw marks, same as his arms. But it's Giddy's secret, and I as his big sister can't go blabbing about it."

' _ Blue'?  Oh, hah, police officer, funny, _ "I couldn't help but notice them, squeezed to him like I was, but didn't it occur to me what they were at first, so there's no harm in clarifying."   _ She doesn't need my input on this right now, it'd keep her up all night; it'll probably keep  _ me  _ up all night.  And I kind of promised I wouldn’t mention what I found there… _

"Thanks for understanding," she sadly smiled, "I figured you already knew if you saw his back."

"So that bit about being a 'snuggler' was…?"

"I only make light of it because I haven't smelled blood on him in years, so there wasn't any harm in that either, right?" she pointed out.

"Aside from my rib-cage, no harm at all," he mused.

"Big, tough cop like you can handle a few bruised ribs," she teased.

"We big, tough cops still need our pillows, though.  You wouldn't happen to have a spare, would you?"

"Oh, sure, Giddy's bed is covered in 'em," she said, getting up from the table to glide across the floor and into the bedroom.  Nick took the moment to stand as well, running his claws through the fur on his own head.

' _ Therapy', huh?  I'd bet my tail that wasn't a child therapist he saw, _ he pondered, and then grinned politely as Esther returned in the doorway, tossing him a pillow.

"Here you go, the least lumpy of them all.  Sleep tight," she said and shut the door.

With the cranial cushioning tucked under his arm, Nick returned to his side of the fold-out bed, and after some degree of fluffing, it made a respectable pillow.  His ear flicked to a soft whimpering beside him,  _ Still haunted by it, huh?  _ considered Nick,  _ Well, 'predator therapy' was abolished years ago, they can't hurt you again. _

"I'm sorry…" came a weak whine.

Nick frowned and reached over to brace Gideon's shoulder, visibly relaxing the stouter fox,  _ Don't worry, Bangs, I got your back. _

* * *

Nick stirred to a wonderful smell, rising as it filled his nostrils, ears flicking to a sizzling skillet.  He promptly tugged up his pants from beside the couch and slipped on a shirt to wander towards the allure of new breakfast.  Inside the kitchen, as Nick suspected, Gideon was at the stove, and with a masterful flick of his wrist flipped a pancake.

"Esther's not up yet?" asked the taller fox.

"No, not as such," the stouter fox replied, looking over his shoulder, "That vixen can sleep for hours on end if she wanted to; I always envied that about her."

"You sleep like a rock, Bangs, I had my bagpipes going last night and everything."

"Yeah, sure," Gideon laughed, "When I'm out, I'm out, but once I'm up, I'm up.  Even as a kit, sleeping in was a foreign concept to me."

"You know, I can't help but notice these odd, round waffles, all  _ cake _ -like and in a  _ pan… _ "

"If you want waffles, Stretch, I'll make them, but you're cleaning the waffle iron."

"…I should try some, make sure they're safe for public consumption; consider it a civic duty on my part," offered Nick.

"I figured I'd make some since you didn't have any at the Hopps' place; all pumpkin-spiced, just for you."

"I  _ did  _ have coffee while I was over there, though."

"There's only tea here," Gideon said, and then reaching into the overhead cabinet to pull out a box, "This is black tea, should be enough caffeine to get you through breakfast."

"No coffee…" scoffed Nick, begrudgingly accepting the box and studying it with some degree of derision, "It's a good thing I'm not moving in."

"There's always breakfast with the bunnies, they  _ love _ their coffee."

"That doesn't surprise me," he muttered, glancing up at the cabinet once more and spotting a different box, "Oh ho,  Trill Grey , Mom buys that in bulk.  Excuse me…" Though it would've been easy to reach over with his height, Nick made it a point to lean on Gideon while exchanging the two boxes of tea.  The anxiety was still there as Nick pressed to his back but it went as soon as it came.

"Stretch, unless you want a spatula-shaped bruise, I suggest you get outta my bubble."

"Aww, but we were all snuggly-wuggly last night…" teased Nick, immediately leaping back as a wooden spoon swung at his torso, "Assault of an officer, that was attempted assault!"

"You're off duty, Blue, and out of your jurisdiction," Esther said, snatching the box of tea from an unaware Nick's paw.

"You do have a habit of sneaking up, don't you?" he frowned, arms crossed.

"Nick's being a  _ jerk _ ," claimed Gideon, pointing his cooking implement at Nick.

"Gideon's being a  _ wuss _ ," claimed Nick, sneering at Gideon.

"And I'm being neither of your mothers," she said, setting the box of tea down on the counter to gracefully reach around her brother for the kettle on the stove, bringing it over to the sink to fill.

"Suck the fun right out of it, why don't you," Nick huffed, reaching into the fridge for the breakfast spreads.

"Had a good spat going and everything," Gideon complained, returning to the pancakes.

"Tea first, then  _ spat _ all you like," she said, watching the kettle fill, still waking up as her bangs and fur skewed in the weirdest directions.

Nick pulled out the container of toxic whipped cream, showed it to Gideon with a tap of the lid, and then arched his eyebrows questioningly towards Esther.  Gideon frowned at it but answered with a shake of his head. Nick nodded in agreement and returned the offending tub to its hiding place, taking the effort to pull other items in front.   _ Hopefully, we won't need to bring her in on this. _

With a back burner lit beneath the tea kettle, Esther sat into a chair and rest her weary head onto bracing palms.  Nick leaned in from an adjacent chair and said discreetly, "If I took a picture of you right now, and posted it on FuzzBook, would you sue me?"

"You, the phone manufacturer, the store you bought it from, and the programmer of the camera app," she replied, before yawning and smoothing her bangs back, transitioning with a single fluid motion to stretch her arms over her head.

"If I took a  _ video _ of that but kept it for myself, would you sue me?"

"No, I really couldn't, but I  _ would _ send Pa after you."

"Point made," said Nick.

"Tell him about the 'Summer of Suitors'," Gideon said.

"No, Giddy, I  _ won't _ tell him about that," groaned Esther.

"Good, because my version is  _ way _ funnier-"

"I was well into my teenage years at the time," she cut off, "A 'kit blossoming into vixenhood', as Ma would say.  Some other predator families had already moved closer to Bunnyburrow by that time, so, it didn't take long for their sons to catch sight of me.  It seemed every other day that Pa was scaring off some boy or another. He put heavy-duty shutters on my window and Ma made me wear these old-timey dresses; it felt like I was locked up for being pretty."

"It's because her long legs and bangs made Essy 'exotic'.  I actually got some of those guys to do favors for me if I 'promised to put in a good word'," grinned Gideon, piling the last of the pancakes onto a plate and setting it on the table.  "C'mon, Stretch, forks and dishes."

"You said  _ dinner _ wasn't for spectators," griped Nick, but set the table willingly.

"It's because young boys are walking sacks of hormones," scoffed Essy, and stood to prepare the tea, "Anyway, it got so bad that around summer, when it was too hot to wear those stuffy dresses, Pa put out a challenge to all the boys chasing me that the first to guess my middle name won.  It was romantic, very storybook."

"I get the sneaky suspicion he knew no one would guess it," smirked Nick, taking his seat again as Esther set out the cups of steeping tea,  _ Ahh, like Mom used to make _ , he mused.

"And no one  _ ever _ did," she began, "As far as middle names go-"

"Well now, hold up, maybe Stretch here would like to hazard a guess," the stouter fox dared in a grin.

"Oh, come on, Giddy, that was  _ years _ ago, and it's such a-" she began again.

"I accept your challenge," the taller fox answered in a dramatic tone, cutting into his syrup-doused pancake, "Now then, what are the  _ rules  _ of this game?"

"You two, I swear," she scoffed.

"You get one guess and no hints.  Win, and you get to court Essy, otherwise, accept your loss like a fox and stop chasing her," Gideon explained with a smirk, "Used to be that you'd meet with Pa and Essy alone, say the name, and he'd give the nod or not.  Circumstances as they are,  _ I _ 'll be Pa's stand-in."

"I would say this is why I haven't found anyone, but it's really because I've been so wrapped up in school and work all these years," Esther assured, taking up bites of her buttery pancakes while trying to ignore the males at the table, "That whole challenge thing ended  _ years _ ago, as I said, and I really just use it to deter tail-chasers in the city."

"Then it's good, honest fun, and I do enjoy good, honest fun," smirked Nick, "However, I am already in violation of the second rule, since I have plenty of hints: firstly, I know it's not a common name, since anyone could guess in that time and Goliath seemed  _ very _ sure no one ever,  _ ever _ would.  Secondly, I can assume your middle name was never leaked to any potential suitors, ergo,  _ you  _ never told it to anyone, perhaps because it's also an  _ odd _ name and what kit wants to share an  _ odd _ name?  Thirdly, I happen to know it begins with the letter 'L' because I saw your signature on precinct paperwork.  Of course, this all points to-"

"This has to be  _ the _ longest he's gone without eating when near food," Gideon told Esther.

Nick glared for a long moment at that smug, smirking face and then shoved a particularly large chunk of pancake into his mouth; using his fork to work it all in, bit-by-bit, before gulping it down, all the while locking eyes with the other male fox.  Not to be outdone, Gideon cut a larger piece of pancake to face the unspoken challenge (parallel to the  _ spoken _ challenge) and stuffed it through his jaw.  Back and forth it went, Esther stifling snickers during it all, especially when Nick chomped with exaggeration, though perhaps because it also kept the conversation derailed.

They heaved and coughed a bit, nearly choking on their individual attempts to down a whole pancake, when Esther finally stopped laughing.  "I don't know what to do with you two," she sighed, raising her tea to her lips, "at least I could beat off those tail-chasers with a stick."

"Oh yes, about that," Nick managed after wiping syrup from his mouth, her eyes rolling as she sipped, "I was about to say that it's, luckily…" he began, about to further explain how he'd narrow down the possibilities of a name that was not  _ actually _ a name.  He stopped short to the clatter of a fork as both Greys stared at Nick; Gideon was caught in the middle of chewing and Esther spat back her tea into the cup.  The former Grey's paws suddenly slammed into the table as he rocketed up, standing and grinning as bits of pancake fell down his chin.

"Pa's gonna  _ flip _ !" he cheered at Esther.

"That  _ doesn't _ count!" she pled at Gideon, mug banging the table as her ears glowed brilliant scarlet.

_ I guessed it without even guessing it, _ Nick realized, sighing inwardly to a sip of tea,  _ Solving a mystery without the fun of a challenge… _

Gideon whooped, paws at his hips as he beamed at the taller fox, "Not in a hundred years was  _ anyone  _ gonna guess that name, and then here you come in from outta  _ no _ where, and like  _ that _ !" and snapped his fingers.

"Maybe he'd like to hear  _ your _ middle name, Gideon-" she threatened, now at full height.

"Don't you dare, that ain't got  _ no _ part in this!"

"Guys!" yelled Nick, the two Greys staring each other down before looking at the Wilde.  He rubbed his temples before making a steeple out of his fingers, "Your middle name is 'Luckily'?" he asked after a deep breath.

"Yeah, it is.  Esther  _ Luckily _ Grey, but I shortened it to 'Lee' for a long time, truth be told," she sighed in defeat, and a realization dawned on her, scarlet returning to her ears while sitting, "I guess he figured it'd bring me good luck."

"Well," Nick began, putting up his calmest front, "that challenge ended years ago as you said.  You are an adult, after all, so you can make your own choices in love."

"Pa's still gonna flip," snickered Gideon.

"Shut  _ up _ , Giddy!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Predator therapy" is deemed as the big scandal in recent Zootopian history and the reasons why will be detailed later on in the story. For the time being, know that it is not a recent thing, necessarily, and that some of history's worst things happened with the best intentions.
> 
> As for Gideon... I heard some years ago, back when I first wrote this, that the directors had in mind that Gideon came from a broken family. Unfortunately, I'd already preconceived as to the nature of his redemption from schoolyard bully to loveable baker (another concept came to me, though, so perhaps I'll use that in a vignette of some sort).
> 
> In lighter news, "Trill Grey" is the Zootopian analog to "Earl Grey" tea. The original name was "Murrl Grey", or something to that extent, but "Trill Grey" feels more appropriate.
> 
> The middle name "Luckily" comes from an idea from a long, long time ago about an illegible nametag but don't worry about it, its significance isn't for some time still.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new day's here (and not a minute too soon)  
> to scare off the dark for our foxes involved.  
> Both tod and vixen walk off towards the noon  
> contented with all of their problems resolved.

After breakfast came cleanup, and the table was cleared before Gideon offered the bathroom to Esther.  "She looks like she needs some time to soak her head," he whispered. Nick wasn't about to argue.

"So, we might be not only cousins but brothers-in-law, too, soon enough," the taller fox thought aloud, rinsing off and drying scrubbed plates for the dish rack.

"You have a real habit of hitching up with foxes you just met," smirked Gideon.

"What can I say, I go where the wind takes me."

"Did you  _ really _ guess her middle name, or did you know it beforehand and decided to be all smart about it?" he asked.

"Less 'guessed it', more 'tripped over it'," Nick answered, "I knew Esther had her middle name as 'Lee', I heard it said before, but it wasn't until a few minutes ago that I realized it was short for a non-name name.  If I can be honest here, my first guess was 'Lovely' or some other positive adverb beginning with 'L'; maybe 'Lady', farther down the list."

"And you happen to blurt out 'Luckily'?" asked a skeptic Gideon.

"That wasn't very high on the list," he explained, "Middle names either honor a family member or convey a meaning, like a virtue, and 'luck' as a virtue is more a rabbit or horse kind of thing."

" _ You _ mention 'luck' often enough."

"Ironically, Bangs," he smirked, "You never know when a bunny's listening, after all."

"Well, 'luck' or whatever, you guessed her name, so you get first shot at courtin' Essy," Gideon teased, "But if I find out you used dirty dealings to take  _ advantage _ , Mr. Wilde, then Pa and me will have some choice things to say on the matter."

"My underhandedness is for police work  _ only _ , not for private gain," grinned the taller fox, to which Gideon grunted a quiet tone of continued skepticism, "Tangentially, I  _ might've _ heard you two talking last night, so there's that…"

"Eavesdropping, Stretch?"

"Well, hardly an eaves to drop in the living room, but yes," he glanced at Gideon's disapproval and rolled his shoulders in an awkward shrug, "Okay, I'm sorry I intruded on your private conversation."

"Nah, I figured you were there, I just wanted to see you squirm," he chuckled, bumping his elbow into the taller fox, "Something I learned from Pa, always behave like someone's watching or listening; keeps ya' sharp, honest, and good-natured."

"Oh, 'good-natured', I see, like making someone  _ squirm  _ for the fun of it?" teased Nick.

"Well, I mean, that was-" Gideon trailed off, staring at Nick with an abrupt chuckle, "You're right, I'm sorry."

_ She's right, that wasn't a very happy chuckle at all,  _ "Sorry for  _ what _ , exactly-?" he asked with an endearing scoff and a bumping elbow.

"For being a-," he lingered, and then quickly answered, "major  _ jerk _ ..." He looked like he was scrubbing his own paws along with the pan.

_ No, not good, very not good,  _ "Hey, c'mon, we're all jerks now and again-"

"I have a lot of  _ self-doubt _ ," he recited, eyes staring off into the distance yet down into the sink, scrubbing harder and harder, "and it manifests itself in the form of unchecked  _ rage _ and  _ aggression _ -"

_ Stop complicating my life!  _ Nick demanded, grabbing the panhandle to yank it from Gideon's clutches, and with every ounce of false calm blurted out, "You know, my middle name's really weird, too."

He blinked from his fugue.  "Must be a fox thing or something," he said, picking up a mug to scrub, as though he didn't miss a beat, "You're awful tense, Stretch; you okay?"

" _ Yeah _ , I'm fine, no worries," he breathed, drying off the dish with a relieved smile, "It's my grandfather's name, I think, something old-timey.  My Dad hated it, but Mom insisted."

"I know how that is," came another chuckle, a hearty guffaw if ever there was one, "I got Grampub's name, too.  According to Ma, he was an admiral, sailed in refugees from some far off war before retiring to Knottedwood."

"How very noble, " Nick scoffed with playfulness,  _ Right, an ‘admiral’.  If there were such a thing as an admiral fox in this day and age, I would have heard of them -- which I didn’t _ , "Mine, I'm proud to say, was a privateer captain, smuggling slaves to freedom right under the nose of a tyrannical government."

"Well, I  _ guess _ that's pretty cool," Gideon scoffed right back, playful still, "I'd bet my Grampub could whip your pirate granddaddy on the open seas any day of the week."

"Of course an  _ admiral _ would have the upper-hand out in the open, Bangs, a  _ privateer _ uses the shallows to their advantage," he explained, handing Gideon the towel to dry off his arms after he emptied the sink, "Either way,  _ if _ our granddads were around at the same time, they  _ must've _ crossed paths -- or swords -- at one point or another," he thought aloud, "I can't imagine an admiral and a privateer captain seeing eye-to-eye on many things."

"You ever meet your grandfather, Stretch?"

"No, not I," said Nick with a shrug, "but correct me if I'm wrong,  _ you _ still visit 'Grampub', at least on a semi-regular basis?"

"If I did, it was earlier in my life than I'd remember," he admitted, "The Knottedwood ain't exactly nearby, ya'know, and  _ nothing _ works over there, not even something like my van.  It's like going back in time, or something."

"Yes, I'm aware," the taller fox recalled, "Something about the trees that messes up technology if you can believe it.  I read about it one time and it sounded like something out of science fiction; I, as a  _ practical _ fox, leave its 'ironroot trees' on the border of Zootopia."

"I grew up on those stories, about foxes who lived in the winding trunks of Knottedwood, where 'if you didn't come from there, you didn't belong there'."

"Dad had some stories about them but they came across as xenophobic to me as I got older."

"I dunno, Ma always made it sound like the foxes there had a  _ connection _ with the trees like they were the only ones who could live in it without getting lost."

"No kidding.  A place that makes compasses and GPS signals go haywire, navigating it must be part of their oral history," Nick wondered, "Did you hear about that squirrel housing development that tried to get into Knottedwood?  They had all the paperwork signed, dotted 'i's and crossed 't's, machinery and construction workers at the ready to start building. All they needed was the okay from the locals, and you know what they said?"

"Of course I know," Gideon affirmed, "They said, 'If you can make it into Knottedwood, you're welcome to start building'."

"I think it was more along the lines of 'Go ahead and try' with some colorful language thrown in, but yes, that's the gist of it.  After nearly three months, the squirrel developers couldn't get their construction teams past the tree line because  _ everything _ failed to work as soon as it got near the forest.  Helicopters couldn't find landing spots because the canopy covered  _ every _ thing, and even blocked radar or infrared.  Like I said, unbelievable."

"Yeah, and there's a river that runs out of Knottedwood into the ocean, I hear it comes from a  _ huge _ underground spring, but most ships can't go up it because of the delta.  All except Grampub, of course, it's said he's the only one who did it."

"It's really a wonder that in this modern age, there's an isolated microcosm  _ so close _ to Zootopia."

"Heck, even the hare places have websites and they're not much further out than the foxes," Gideon said, walking towards his bedroom, "It sounds like Essy's drying her fur, and I wanna change before she finishes."

"Did you want the bathroom after her, then?"

"Only for a quick brush, I washed up yesterday so I should be fine for today."

"You sure? All that running around in the dirt from last night?" smirked Nick.

"I'm a farm fox, Stretch, you ain't even  _ seen _ my 'dirt', yet."

In the living room, Nick folded the bed in and replaced the cushions so he could kick up his feet.  The sounds of civil exchange between the Grey siblings flicked his ear, and he pulled out his phone to look up the  Woolipedia page on "Admiral Grey".  He was redirected to "Admiral Greyside", a rhinoceros from the Royal Navy of two-hundred years ago,  _ I sincerely doubt this is Gideon's 'Grampub', _ Nick pondered,  _ Maybe it's on his mother's side.   _ Changing out "Grey" for "Savage", the search redirected him to "Captain Piberius Savage".

He was a pirate, traitor, thief, slaver, and murderer, a credit to his species and family name of 'savage'-ry as a scourge to sailing ships.  In his final act of depravity, he kidnapped the entire populace of a village and disappeared a hundred years ago. Nick truly wished he could be surprised by the article, but was unimpressed at its slander,  _ I suppose it would be 'libel' since it's a published work.   _ Something that caught his notice, however, was the note directly beneath the title: "(Redirected from Admiral Piberius Savage)".

"Okay, Stretch, tub's all yours," chimed Gideon, walking out from the door leading to the living room, causing Nick to hold the phone down on his chest.  The stouter fox's fur looked well-kept, and his fresh clothes were certainly presentable, much more than Nick saw from him all weekend.

"Well, aren't you a catch," he said with a smirk, rolling to his feet, "Who're we trying to impress today?"

" _ I _ need to get my booth set up, so that means meeting with the 'Faire Coordinators' and finishing up registration.  You're welcome to come along, of course."

"I'd be lying if I said it sounded the least bit interesting."

"I'm certainly not looking forward to it," sighed Gideon, "How about you spend the day with Esther, maybe bring along Judy and Bo, too? Get a chance to see more of Bunnyburrow than my li'l bakery."

"Some of my most cherished memories of Bunnyburrow are in that kitchen, though," swooned Nick, "The waffles, the stir-fry, the peach pie, the pancakes… I can't wait to see what's for dinner."

"Get yer tail in there and wash up," Gideon grunted, backhanding Nick's shoulder as he walked by, "If  _ I _ gotta look nice, so do  _ you _ ."

"But I'm not even  _ going _ to the registration," whined Nick.

"Brat."

"Prude."

"Are you sure you two weren't split at birth?" came Esther's disembodied voice.

_Well, we're most definitely cousins, if_ _Woolipedia_ _is believed,_ Nick pondered, once more by himself inside the bathroom.  He discarded yesterday's clothes and climbed into the tub, sitting on the provided stool to gnaw on his most recent findings.  ' _Admiral Piberius Savage',_ he thought, reaching for the low shower head and turning on the hot water, "Don't wait up for me, Bangs," he called through the door.

"Okay!" came the response.

_ That should give me some time to myself.  And Dawson, so help me, if I see you I will ram my head into the wall until you disappear.   _ After a moment of silence and zero hallucinations, all the while getting his fur dowsed, Nick turned off the water and holstered the shower head.   _ Let's see…  _ he reached over for what looked like Gideon's two-in-one shampoo/conditioner, and flicked the cap for a sniff,  _ Cheap stuff, but it'll do _ , and squirted some out to work it into a lather.

Nick savored the solitude, joined only by a gentle drip from the shower-head as he closed his eyes and lathered his head.   _ So Gideon and I are cousins.  I'd be an idiot to dismiss the coincidence of not only one, but two sets of identical names, "Jackie Savage" and "Piberius Savage".  I would need confirmation, of course, but having family in the area might prove useful;  _ having  _ family is nice too.   _ Shaking suds from his paws, Nick groped around for the shower-head and knob.   _ As if I need any more mysteries to worry about, but at least this is more a curiosity and doesn't have thousands of lives riding on it. _

He thought back to the imagined conversation of the previous night while rinsing himself off.  ' _ It hasn't reached the thinking part of my brain, yet', huh?  I wonder if this is what Basil deals with when  _ he  _ reaches his brilliant deductions.  At least my subconscious was nice enough to show up a little more… well, I'm glad  _ she  _ isn't my cousin.   _ Nick turned off the water and glanced up at his purple shirt, hanging nearby.  He smirked and stood, reaching for a towel to begin drying off.  The city-fox  hadn't the pleasure to utilize a private fur-dryer in a long,  _ long _ time.  Either he was a kit, and Mom dried him off, or he had to share with Finnick, or it was one of those high-powered blow dryer stalls in the precinct locker room that, if he jumped, could hover in the air a few good seconds.  So, understandably, he took his time and savored the experience, already daydreaming about his own bathroom, one that didn't smell like Gideon. Understandability continued, Nick's fur puffed out in ludicrous ways and he laughed for some minutes at the reflection, chuckling all the while he brushed himself into civility.

_ Back to business _ , the freshly groomed fox resolved, reaching up to tug his shirt from the bathroom shelf, only to find that the hanger was turned about the wrong way from two nights prior.   _ What have we here? _ he wondered while unhooking his new garment, rather certain that wasn't its initial position.  Nick took the time to analyze it, sniff it, and employ all manner of police training he could muster for so specific a circumstance,  _ I daresay Esther didn't  _ wear  _ it, exactly, but had this shirt against her in some way, _ thinking about how one might lay clothes along their body in front of a mirror to see how it looked on them.

A simply naughty grin spread from ear-to-ear as he removed the wire implement and slipped his arms through the long sleeves, which he rolled up to the elbow.  Additionally, he pulled out the tie and slacks which he also got from his father and donned them in his familiar, devil-may-care fashion. Nick gave his suave reflection a double shot of finger guns.

* * *

 

"Still here, Esther?" asked Nick, stepping out from the bathroom and into the living room.  She glanced up from the couch, legs folded beneath her while wearing overalls cuffed up to the knee and, what Nick could only assume was, one of Gideon's shirts tied at her stomach.   _ Game on, Ms. Grey. _

"Took you long enough," she said not unkindly, stretching out her legs before standing up and tucking her phone into a back pocket, "Private bathroom bit of a shock for you?"

"Fifteen years bathing in a gas station sink does that to a guy," he replied, and leaned in to scrutinize her outfit, "What are we going for here, 'blind grab at the thrift store clothes rack'?"

"My shampoo exploded in the suitcase, so I picked out what best fit me from Giddy's closet.  Pretty sure he's never worn these, and they cinch in well enough," she explained, reaching into a front pocket and pulling out a key, "Brother dearest agreed to lend me his spare key to our kithood home, that way I can find something a bit more…  _ me _ .  You're welcome to join, Blue, I wouldn't mind a police escort."

"Far be it for me to dismiss a citizen in distress," he said, "How _ ever _ , it does bring up the question of how  _ you _ got caught without accommodations."

"Does it?" she said, stooping to hoist her suitcase, the tied-off mouth of a trash bag jutting from a corner, "I thought I was rather clear about the missed train and lost hotel reservation; I still have pictures of those 'no foxes' signs I spoke about, in case you need something more concrete than my word of honor."

"I have no doubt about all that, Esther," Nick continued, turning on a heel into the bathroom and speaking through the open door.  Esther stepped closer and leaned in to garner a peek at his activity, "I'm talking about what happened  _ before _ hand when you decided not to house-sit for your folks while they were out of town.  Gideon would have if he could but he had business of his own in the TBR, so perhaps couldn't spare the time.   _ You  _ certainly would have, as I suspect you wanted to, if you weren't already predisposed back in the city.  If you  _ did _ plan to come here during this time, you would know better than to try for a hotel with all of these visiting bunnies." With his suitcase in paw, he returned to the living room, "So,  _ why _ come last minute?  What could  _ possibly _ cause you to run out, early Saturday morning, hop a train and ride two-hundred and eleven miles into a scheduled infestation of rabbit relatives?"

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out," she poised.

"Simply put, new information from no earlier than  _ Thursday  _ changed your plans, info about a certain visitor to Bunnyburrow," he smirked, "You came for  _ me _ ."

"Did I?" she asked, turning towards the door with a flick of her bangs, "That's some lovely circumstantial evidence, Mr. Wilde.  What if, as you said, I  _ did _ have plans for this weekend but at the last minute, they fell through?  Maybe there was a reason I didn't want to stay in the city during this time.  Personal drama, perhaps? Maybe I  _ knew  _ my brother had a spare key to the house and I could, posthumously, house-sit in this time to surprise my folks when they get back.  Would earn me some brownie points, don't you think? You saw my state yesterday, I was upheaved in the worst way; certainly  _ looks _ like things didn't go at all according to plan.  All-in-all, I'd say your deductions are a bit lacking, junior detective."

"While those shadows-of-a-doubt might work on a jury of my peers, as an officer of the law I base conclusions on hard evidence," he said, following out the door as she pulled and locked it shut, soon descending the wooden stairs into the empty lot.  "For example, I know the hotels in Bunnyburrow will  _ not _ give away reserved hotel rooms so long as you call at least an hour beforehand to inform them of your tardiness and the fastest train from the city is an hour-and-a-half; therefore, if you  _ did _ miss your initial train, you could still call the hotel and let them know that you'll be in later than expected.  On the other hand, I sincerely believe you weren't expecting me in Gideon's apartment last night because  _ I _ sincerely didn't know I'd be rooming with him until arriving in Bunnyburrow."

"Such wishful thinking, convinced this all revolves around  _ you _ ," she scoffed with playful smugness, leading the way to, and then along, the fenced treeline, "I could make a similar claim about  _ your _ intent, concerning me; case-in-point, why not leave your luggage at Giddy's?  You certainly like his cooking well enough."

"Now, see, when I make a deduction, an explanation follows," instructed Nick, "I didn't even know you were in this weekend, so I wouldn't come on the off chance you decided to visit."

"Oh, Blue, Blue Blue Blue," she tsked, turning on a heel to walk backward and speak very matter-of-factly, "You came for Judy, of course, I make no claim otherwise.  You likely didn't know about her and Bo until recently, I can tell as much from her Fuzzbook photos; and then when you finally found out about him, you  _ jumped  _ at the chance to size him up, face-to-face." She turned about again with a sweep of her tail, "It's very sweet of you, looking out for her like that."

Nick frowned in defeat, so sure he'd masked his momentary jealous flare against Judy's boyfriend with the utmost caution; yet she saw through it, all while turning his own line of questioning back on him.   _I could drop that bombshell about her little 'crush' on me,_ _but that would be impolite.  Besides, she sways when she's happy, and I'm happy when she sways, so it's a win-win.  The first round is yours, Ms. Grey, but I'm not so easily outfoxed._ "As an aside, I couldn't help but notice we're not taking public transit.  Are we close by?"

"Only if we walk through these woods that, also as an aside, we are walking around."

"Ah ha, I see."

The morning crept for the next few seconds as they trekked along the fence, Esther sparing expectant glances at Nick, but he was observing the trees with an occasional curious grunt.

"The ironroot trees, in case you wondered," she finally caved, "are gradually spreading from the Knottedwood.  No faster than the creep of tectonic plates, though."

"I hear those get violent when they move enough," he commented.

"Except this 'tremor' is making the woods here less friendly to the likes of electronics.  So, us being city-foxes, we're protecting our precious cell phones from its prolonged presence," Esther explained, "At our pace, we should be at Preds' Corner in a few hours."

"Pardon me while my fur stands on end," he grimaced.

"They don't train for long hikes in the ZPD?" she smirked back.

"We have vehicles in the city but that's not my major issue, nor is the idea that 'iron-root trees' are 'spreading'," he said, "What's this about a 'Preds Corner'?"

"Oh, that, yes," Esther said, "You see,  _ officially _ it's 'The Brambles', something of a township off Bunnyburrow proper.  We all know it as ‘Preds' Corner’ because it's where we preds set up homes and shops."

"…I  _ see _ ."

"It's not like a ghetto or shanty town if that's what you're thinking," Esther hastily assured, "On the contrary, the place is actually a bustling little slice o' heaven.  It's got prey there, too, but mostly preds. It's where a lot of the fox families are."

"No doubt a ghost town with the TBR swooping in."

"Shouldn't be," she speculated, "I heard about a few other families going on vacation, it's the thing to do, but I find it hard to believe they  _ all _ would."

"One more question: why isn't our dear Gideon's bakery in Preds Corner?"

"Oh," she beamed, "that's because Stu and Bonnie got him a good deal on a shop a little closer to town."

" _ That _ raised a few ears.”

"I  _ wish _ I could've been there when he moved in," she said with no attempt at hiding her glee, "According to Giddy, he was watched for  _ days _ , and the neighboring shops kept calling Sheriff Longmare about 'suspicious activity'; it got to the point that Rachel looked forward to those calls so she could visit his bakery."

"Sheriff  _ Rachel _ Longmare?"

"Do you know her?"

"By name only," Nick smirked, "but from the sounds of it,  _ you' _ re on a first name basis with the local authority; always handy."

"You bet; we're 'bangs-sisters'," Esther laughed, tucking one behind her ear only for it to fall around her face again, "We have our 'mane therapy' every season, just the two of us.  We tried to get Judy in on it one time, bless her heart, but it doesn't work the same with ears."

"I can see why Carrots never told me about Bunnyburrow, this place is rife with stories about her.  I have enough material to last me for  _ weeks _ and I've only been here two days."

"It's what they say about hometowns; you're a hero everywhere except where you're from."

"And where are  _ you _ from, Ms. Grey, if it's not too sensitive a subject?" asked Nick, "I've seen a grand total of  _ three _ foxes with bangs like yours, and they're all from the same family."

"I don't mind," she assured, "I'm sure with all your powers of induction and the wealth of information from Giddy, you've already pieced me together well enough, so I'll fill in the gaps for you.  Pa's from down south -- 'as far south as south can get', he'd say -- came wandering up into Knottedwood, half-dead and cradling baby me like a potato. Ma found him, nursed us both back to health, and before too long they mated up.  There was the issue that  _ he _ was already mated, of course, carrying around a kit and all.  According to Pa, they were welcome to stay, but Ma…"

"Ruth's a very  _ traditional  _ fox?"

"A 'proper vixen', as she likes to put it," and rolled her eyes with an amused grin, "the fact of the matter is, foxes don't live in forests too much down south, that's why they got these things," and flicked one of her bangs, "So, we all set out for Bunnyburrow with Uncle Jacky, and lived here ever since."

"Hold,  _ hold _ ," Nick said, so they both stopped walking, " _ Uncle _ Jackie?"

"Well, yeah?" Esther asked in bemusement, "He helped out while Pa was building our house, and… I guess he kinda left before I was old enough to remember him, but I always knew him as 'Uncle Jacky'."

"Okay, I guess it's time for this conversation," Nick decided, setting down his suitcase as he hopped onto the nearby fence to sit.

"Now that I think about it," Esther kept along her own train of thought, but followed suit to sit on the fence, "Ma's never said one way or the other except 'That Jacky Savage!' in her proper tone, when she got  _ really _ angry; it was something of a touchy subject."

"Right, so," Nick continued, "we, Gideon and I, found out yesterday that our mothers have the same maiden name of 'Savage'-"

"Oh my gosh!" Esther burst, eyes lighting up in cascading realization as she faced him, "Are you Giddy's cousin?"

"Y-Yes," stammered a bewildered Nick, "I'm pretty sure-"

"Ma used to say Jacky was 'lost to some-"

" _ Wilde _ fox in the city', yes, I know," Nick said, trying to re-establish the gravity of the situation, "and I thought that referenced my dad, John Wilde-"

"Of course, your mom is  _ Jackie _ Wilde!" she burst again, cupping her cheeks, "Oh my gosh, how did I not  _ see _ that?  That makes so much more sense now.  I mean, I  _ knew _ who your Mom was, but I was so convinced I had an  _ Uncle _ Jacky, that it never occurred to me to look for a 'Jackie  _ Wilde _ '-"

"Ahh, yes, of course," Nick relinquished, "both you and Mom follow Judy's FuzzBook."

"I looked for Jacky, Jack, John, Johnny, even Nathan or Nate; all iterations of 'Jonathan Savage'," she then gasped louder and clapped both paws over her mouth, "I can't  _ believe _ I came across a 'Jacqueline Savage' in Zootopia's mateship records and I  _ dismissed _ it!" she groaned in her frustration, "If I were my boss, I'd fire me on the spot."

"There there, Esther, you were only biased by past experiences that clouded your judgment," Nick consoled, reaching over to pat her back only to receive a quick elbow in the ribs.  "Eloquent rebuttal," he wheezed, gripping his side and bracing the fence post; while he  _ could _ nurse another Grey-related injury to his rib-cage and retain his balance, he promptly fell back from a gentle lick on his cheek.

"Truly, Blue," she giggled, pivoting on the fence with a swing of her legs, and leaning forward on her knees to address the fox sprawled in the downy grass, "I can't thank you enough for pointing me to my Unc-… well, I guess it's  _ Aunt _ Jackie, now.  I gave up hope of  _ ever _ finding him, I mean,  _ her _ ," she became solemn, if but a moment, "I also thought I'd  _ never  _ hear Giddy laughing again, for that matter.  Yet here you ride in, out of the blue, bringing  _ both _ like it's just another day being Nick Wilde."

"Zootopia's Finest, ma'am, always here to help," he grinned, standing up on the other side of the fence and holding out his paw in a chivalrous gesture.

"And such a gentlefox," she cooed, accepting his gesture to dismount.  "We can actually cut through the forest here; it's a narrower part and should shave some time off the trip."

"In that case, lead the way," Nick insisted, reaching over the fence to retrieve their suitcases, "Now, I don't mean to open old wounds, but you wouldn't happen to know what happened between Ruth and Jackie?  Surely  _ Goliath _ would've said something."

"Pa didn't say much," admitted Esther, receiving her luggage and heading towards the trees, "Not only was he respecting Ma's wishes not speaking of it, but  _ he _ was so mad at Aunt Jackie, he'd clam up and fume as soon as hear mention her.  It took me a while, but I puzzled out that when Pa finished the house, Jackie went off to Zootopia on the promise to stay in touch.  I figure she must've gotten there and written or called up to a point, otherwise they wouldn't be so mad that she up and vanished."

"Quite so; they'd be  _ sad _ if she disappeared without a trace, or died," he reasoned, "So how did  _ you _ manage to stay away from home for so long?"

"When I first got to the big city, I had to call Ma and Pa every night, or else 'come right home'.  It actually helped me get through the first year, but I'll never tell  _ them _ that," she grinned at an inward satisfaction, but only for a fleeting moment, "What gets me is, knowing that Aunt Jackie's been  _ alive _ all this time, why didn't she reach out?  It can't be too hard to find Ma's contact info, it's not like her name changed, heck, she hasn't even moved in three decades."

"Well…" Nick said soberly, "I guess it runs in the family."

"What d'you mean by that?"

"I…" he sighed, "I lost touch with my parents throughout my adult life.  It was only this past Friday that we finally got back together."

"Why'd it take so long?" she asked in sympathy.

"Not sure," he shrugged, "I guess after all that happened we couldn't face each other, and when we finally came around, years already went by.  Mom probably feels the same way; maybe she's scared to face Ruth after what happened between  _ them _ ."

"Yeah, but they're  _ sisters _ , they'll forgive each other, and Ma's fast to forgive," Esther said, and then added ruefully, "she also doesn't like her trust broken.  Well, looks like we should get our mothers face-to-face and made up, 'eh Blue?"

"Sounds like quite a feat.  Think they'll be too tired from their cruise for a trip to the city?"

"I suppose the real question is do we spring this on them, or set it up with full disclosure?"

"That's an  _ excellent _ question, Cherries, one we'll actually need to discuss with Gideon.  He's a part of this, too, after all."

"'Cherries'?" she asked, and looked down at the trash bag and its traces of cherry-scented shampoo jutting from her suitcase, "It  _ that _ what you've been thinking about all this time, Blue?"

"I'm a multi-faceted fox, I think about lots of things simultaneously," he grinned in token smugness, "For example, I think about-" but cut himself off with a harsh, sudden grunt.

"Blue?"

"No, I'm fine," he winced, rubbing at the side of his head but smirking it off, "a slight pain in the brain, probably some new pollen for me to sneeze at."

"Never really knew the woods to have pollen like the fields do, but okay."

He cringed, but kept walking, "What, is there something special about these woods, pollen doesn't work in here?"

"No need to snap about it, it's just how they've always been," she frowned, first indignantly and then with concern, "Are you sure you're okay? We can head back to Giddy's and get some pain meds-"

"No, no, let's keep going."

"We shouldn't be halfway through, yet, we can still go around-?"

"Left right, left right, sweetheart; wasting daylight."

"Now hold up, Nick, we're not going  _ any _ where until you fix your attitude," she asserted, stepping in front of him and crossing her arms, suitcase at her feet.

"Alright,  _ alright _ , I'm sorry," he sighed, setting down his luggage for a seat and to rub his head, "It feels like every step I take in these woods hurts a little more, but it's not like a migraine or hangover, I know what  _ those _ feel like.  It's more like… I guess more like a sinus headache, except deeper?"

"Need to rest a minute, then?" Esther asked as tenderly as she could, crouching down and looking up at his scrunched face.

"Yeah, that should be fine," he said with a deep breath, "I'm sorry I snapped."

"Don't worry about it; I'd be short too if I had a headache for no reason.  Any other symptoms?" she asked, pulling out her phone with a harrumph, "Never mind.  We're close to some iron-roots, or something because my phone's all nuts."

"They're 'spreading', you said?" Nick asked with thumbs massaging his temples.

"That's the rumor."

"There's also a slight ringing in my ears, for what it's worth."

"C'mere, Blue, rest your noggin," offered the vixen, and she knelt completely on the cool grass, patting her legs.

"Yes, ma'am," Nick said after realizing what she instructed.  Slowly, he lay along the forest floor, beneath the canopy shade of sparsely speckled sunlight to set his head upon her lap.  Gentle claw tips raked across his scalp from brow to ear, sending minuscule jolts of electricity all along his spine and tail.  "This is nice," he murmured, as though he might've meant to think it rather than speak it.

"Ma would do this for me and Giddy whenever we got headaches from fox-flu," she explained, keeping her voice low and sweet.

"Great, fox-flu for adults, but I welcome the treatment," he hummed, "We should stay like this all day."

"There's plenty of day ahead of us, Blue, and I still have shampoo to wash out of my stuff, but we can stay another few minutes."

"I'd like that."

"She also sang for us; I could hum a few bars if it'll help."

"Fancy that, mine sang, too," Nick said, gradually drifting, "Dad tried, but he can't carry a tune if his life depended on it."

" _ Lee-la-dee… _ " Esther sang after a quick giggle, " _ lee-la-dee, lee-did-diddy-dee-doo… _ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might recall the verbatim recitation of Gideon's line from the movie and you'd be right. More on that in later chapters.
> 
> And here we have a blooming romance of young hearts... actually, no, both Nick and Esther are entering their mid-thirties so they've got plenty of life experience (and cynicism). Be that as it may, I've enjoyed writing them throughout this entire story, building on their interactions with each new chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	11. Chapter 11

Nick and Esther exited the shaded woods into an open field, a sizeable cluster of buildings some short distance off that were, in accordance with Esther's speculation, marginally active.  The mid-to-late morning sun glanced from behind some low-hanging clouds, causing the vixen to look up through her bangs.

"So this is Preds Corner?" Nick asked, moving his suitcase from one paw to the other and reaching for his phone.

"Unimpressed?"

"Surprised," he corrected, and checked a text message, "Gideon is 'bored'."

"Not surprised," she commented, and grabbed up her own phone once it found a signal and buzzed for attention, "Oh, he already told Judy and Bo about meeting up with us."

"Impressed?"

"It's more initiative than I expect out of him when it comes to social outings," and with a shrug, tucked the phone into her back pocket once more, "I'll hash out the details with her later, right now we should get to the homestead before the morning slips away."

"I have a 'city fox' question: what happens at a 'TBR', anyway?"

"Judy didn't tell you?" Esther asked, walking back along the treeline towards a road which led further from Bunnyburrow.  Nick gave a dismissive shrug and grinned in answer before she explained, "It's arguably the biggest faire in the Tri-Burrow area, once every twenty years, give-or-take.  I remember the last one was… something of a taboo for us Greys, because we were still somewhat new to the Burrow -- by bunny standards, anyway -- and having a fox family nearby wasn't  _ exactly _ smiled on; it's a good thing times have changed since then.  I wanted to see the faire  _ so _ badly, and we could almost hear it from our house, but Pa said," in her best impression of a deep, fatherly voice, "'We ain't welcome there; not yet'."

"Oh ho, so  _ that _ 's why you're in town for the TBR.  A kithood dream come true."

"And to support Giddy, of course," she beamed, "According to Mr. Hopps, this is the first time in TBR history that a  _ fox  _ is part of the festivities."

"If you don't mind my asking, Cherries, what was so important back in Zootopia that you would've missed such a monumental event?"

"We're  _ swamped _ with cases, thanks to you and your Howler dens," she teased, to which Nick simply scoffed and smirked, "but Mr. Little -- I'm on 'his side of the law firm' -- said I could head out if I worked overtime leading up to this weekend.  He's a sweet guy, probably the nicest bear I know."

" Bagh & Little , a law firm specializing in predator cases, and perhaps one of the least fortunately named in the city," Nick recalled.

"One thing, of a very short list, that Ira and John agreed on was the name order," she giggled.

"Ah, yes, 'Eer-a' not 'Eye-ra'; Mr. Bagh is quite sensitive about that."

"It can be a point of contention, sometimes."

"Speaking of contention, something occurs to me," Nick pondered aloud, "Gideon is the  _ first _ fox in the TBR, but is he the  _ only _ fox in the TBR?"

"Long and short of it."

"And all those bunnies are okay with this?"

"From the way Giddy tells it, him being there means good luck for them," she said.

" _ A _ fox is 'good luck', but not a  _ family _ of foxes?"

"Twenty years is a long time, Blue, rabbits can't be scared of foxes forever.  At least it's a step in the right direction."

"As soon as I think I've got bunnies figured out, they go and make up new definitions for 'dumb'."

And so they walked, and so they talked, following the old fence until they met a road leading into the residential area of the Preds' Corner; small plots of land were scattered up to the fence-marked treeline, looking more and more like the farthest boundary of Bunnyburrow.  Despite Nick's insistence that Preds' Corner and its associated farms were abandoned, Esther pointed out figures in a field or fellow travelers along the road, and even the occasional vehicle passed by.

"There, see?   _ Not _ a 'ghost town'," boasted Esther, checking a 'Grey' mailbox and pulling out some envelopes to tuck under her arm.  Nick took a moment to absorb, standing at the end of the driveway and looking up the gentle slope to her house, remembering what Esther said about that fateful day when Gideon was sentenced to 'therapy'.  A chill ran up his spine as he tried to imagine how it must feel to hear his name yelled across Bunnyburrow, and knowing the fox who yelled it was at the top of that driveway.

He followed his farmland guide through the front gate, closing it behind them with a gentle 'click'.  As best his city fox brain could process, the Grey family 'farm' was little more than a grassy field, with areas marked off for… Nick guessed Goliath's carpentry by the clear indentations from tarps and erected canopies.  He did notice a small soccer field with wooden goals, but it didn't look like it'd seen much in the way of use for a while; still, it was kept at the ready in hopes of a game.

"No crops?" asked Nick.

"They’re around back," Esther explained, "that's where Ma gets her produce from, at least what she doesn't get from the store.  Pa and Ma's big trade is their craft, making some of the best furniture in Bunnyburrow, and I heard some of it even found it's way into Zootopia."

"Ruth, too?" he wondered, "Ah ha, she makes the upholstery, perhaps, no doubt a talented seamstress if that's the case."  Nick paused, looking up at a notably big door Esther unlocked, and peered into a house which reminded him of living arrangements back in Zootopia, where everything was designed to accommodate a range of sizes.   _ Of course, Goliath would build a place he could comfortably stand and walk around in, but these proportions are a bit dizzying, I guess he’s bigger than I thought.   _ The smells were… homely, welcoming, yet somehow foreign to Nick, as if he either surrendered to familial embrace or stayed out entirely, with no middle ground to speak of.  It occurred to him that this is what his own home must feel like to other foxes, or even other mammals who managed to befriend a fox.

"She threads a mean needle, no doubt about that," Esther said, and then turned to find Nick hesitating at the threshold.  She stood right inside, her suitcase already down near the open door; the outside light cast a harsh shadow and made the Grey household look dark.  He didn't feel that way when walking into Gideon's apartment, perhaps because it was still a bachelor's den but where he stood was something more,  _ deeper _ .  "Be warned, Blue, 'as soon as you walk through that door, you're family', Ma would say," she dared in a grin.

"Courage to the sticking place," Nick quipped with an easy air, and strode through the doorway, knuckles gripping his luggage.  As soon as he stepped in, the house seemed a little less dark, yet the ambient light was still drastic for the interior. Without cue, Nick reached back to close the door, the click of the latch was like an auctioneer's gavel; his bid was made.  The darkness dispersed when the nocturnal eyes of a fox adjusted, now that the sunlight from outside no longer cast its blinding rays, and the Grey house felt much more… like home. There was still a weight anchoring his arm, though, so he relaxed his knuckles and left his baggage at the door.

"I'll get started on laundry in a bit, but first, you need hydration," the vixen relayed, sauntering to a kitchen which, in relation to the rest of the house, was notably smaller.  Nick studied his surroundings and immediately spotted the most obvious difference in size between Mr. and Mrs. Grey: their armchairs. One looked like someone stapled cushions to the stump of an oak tree, the other he initially mistook for an accompanying ottoman.

"Esther, your mother is  _ tiny _ ," he blurted out, unable to mask his incredulity, "Goliath could lift her over his head with one paw."

"He does."

"Come again?"

"He lifts her over his head, she loves it," Esther said with a warm smile, "She's short and stout, our little teapot, but fierce as thunder.  When Giddy and I were kits, Pa'd have one of us in each paw and go running around the yard; scared Ma half to death, especially when he tossed us in the air like a ball to catch us again.  I remember after a long day at the faire, he'd carry the three of us home in his arms. They're some of my most cherished memories."

Nick covered the distance of the living room floor as she spoke, leaning on the counter and accepting the glass of water she retrieved from the kitchen sink.  He quietly vocalized his approval of the cool refreshment. "How is this water so  _ good _ ?  It's better than the filtered water back in the city."

"Underground spring," she answered, walking past him to gather up her shampoo-soaked clothes, "Pa taught himself everything he needed to know to get a homestead up and running; plumbing, electricity, masonry, and got help with the more advanced stuff.  He even set up that flat-screen you see over there."

"Yes, I noticed that older model TV mounted to the wall.  I also noticed the claw marks in the arms of his chair," he sipped his water in a very scholarly manner, "You mentioned he gets excited about soccer games?"

"Soccer and carpentry, Pa's two big passions," she said, suitcase swinging at her side as he walked through the kitchen and to the back door, "After his family of course."

"Naturally," he grinned, "Washing machine and dryer are outside?"

"Pa built a shed for them, in exchange for the TV," she grinned right back, "Make yourself comfy, Blue, and help yourself to anything in the fridge, I have some cleaning to do."

The door closed, and Nick first helped himself to more of that underground water.   _ To think, all the city's advancement in water purification technology, yet it can't beat a natural spring out in the boondocks _ , he mused, examining the crystal-clear water and all that was visible through it.   _ Hmm… those dried peaches are  _ on  _ the fridge, not  _ in  _ it, so am I still allowed to help myself to them? _ he wondered, as more a courteous consideration than an actual question, since he already plucked them on his way to Goliath's enormous chair.

He breathed deep the smell of finished wood and lingering baked goods, munching idly upon a dried peach as he thought about 'A fox is good luck, but a family of foxes is not'.   _ I've heard something about that before, but where? _  Chew as he might, Nick's memory banks served him little purpose, other than barn doors, ashes, and how Esther's overalls and cinched-up shirt showed off her sides.   _ She did that purposefully to bait me _ , he pondered,  _ and it's working.  I'm sure my wearing this shirt is baiting her, too, but she's a hard vixen to read.  I guess a defense attorney would need to be. _

Without much more to invest in the subject of fox families and whatever manner of luck they might bring, Nick reached for the television remote sitting on the chair's arm and decided to vegetate in the late Sunday morning.

_ [Click] _

"…passing wide to the forward receiver…"

_ [Click] _

"…a fine example of silverware, the din-..."

_ [Click] _

"…and from His song came…"

_ [Click] _

"…La-a-a-ambert the Li-…"

_ [Click] _

[On-screen explosions]

_ [Click] _

"…We'll be right back after a word from our sponsor…"

_ Oh hey, I remember this show _ , Nick thought with a smile, willing to sit through a few commercials to catch the last half of it.  Letting the remote rest, he settled in and pulled out another dried peach to munch on.

"Scoot, Blue," Esther said, walking around the armchair and gesturing with a flick of her wrist, "There's enough room up there for the both of us."

"Only if you can answer  _ me _ these questions  _ three _ ," he began theatrically, "Question the first: What's the news on the bunnies?"

"They're meeting us at Preds' Corner for lunch," she said, arms crossed and shifting weight to one leg.

"Correct!" he replied dramatically, to which she rolled her eyes, "Question the second: what is the  _ third  _ question?"

"'Is it possible for Nick Wilde to be normal about  _ any _ thing?'"

"Correct!  Question the third: is it possible for  _ Nick Wilde _ to be normal about anything?"

"Not to save his life."

"Correct!  You may join me upon the giant's throne, fair maiden," he enunciated and made spooky whooshing noises as he scooted to one side of the armchair.  "So, what shall two foxes do alone in all this free time?" he wondered aloud in his normal voice.

"You can start by passing me a peach," she suggested, fitting herself against Nick and crossing one leg over the other; he complied and handed her a single pink-orange ring.  "What're we watching?" she asked, chewing on the single ring patiently.

"Commercials; known for financially supporting TV stations through ad revenue in the hopes that viewers will buy their product."

"Okay, what  _ specifically, _ are we watching?"

"This one's for the  Hexward Pharmaceuticals company, advertising their latest pill for retractile dysfunction."

"…Okay,  _ after _ the commercials are done and we return to the  _ show _ , what will we be watching?"

" _ The Many Adventures of Mr. & Mrs. Foxglove _ ," he explained, taking another sip of water.

" _ Ooh _ , I loved that as a kit!  Which episode it is?"

"Unknown; came in right at the commercial break.  By the way, have you ever noticed how the Hexward logo looks like a fox's face on a shield?" he pointed out, holding out his paws to frame it, "Kinda looking straight-on, nose down, ears up; it's abstract, but it's there."

"I never thought of it before," she said, squinting at the passing image, "I always figured it was only some kind of fancy design of a stag’s antlers but now I can't un-see it."

"You're welcome," he grinned, "Speaking of symbology, I saw the cracked stone right outside the front door.  Are the Greys a Chronicler family?"

"We sure are," she said with a smile, "Sing every morning, evening, and twice more on Sundays; Ma and Pa made sure of that.  Are the Wildes?"

"Me?  Not for some years.  The folks still go at it, I don't doubt, Mom singing the songs and Dad telling the tales.  Now that they're back in my life, though, who knows."

"You were humming that song all the way from the wood, as I recall."

"Well, Mom sang that song to me when I was a kit, I couldn't forget it if I  _ tried _ .  Not that I'd  _ want _ to," Nick said, eyes on the TV screen as the commercials flashed by.  He glanced at Esther, who smiled kindly and fit in a bit closer.

"Hey Nick," she said, enjoying the peace of the moment, "I'm not complaining at all, but I am curious; why did you want to be a cop?  Judy wants to make the world a better place, and she won't admit it, but she also wants to prove that bunnies are more than cute carrot farmers.  It can't be any easier for a fox to be a cop than a bunny, though."

"Well," he began, and turned the volume down on the television a bit, reclining introspectively, "Nothing so altruistic as worldly betterment, but I wanted to be part of something bigger than myself, to be a better me, ever since I was a kit."  He gestured to the muted sounds and closed captioning of the  _ Foxgloves _ episode, "They're amazing, and I don't know a single  _ rational _ fox that didn't want to emulate them in some way.  I wanted to be like Mr. Foxglove, diving in and saving the day before the bad guys knew what hit them, so when I got older, I joined the Junior Ranger Scouts.  That didn't go over so well. Fast forward to well over a year ago, I met this  _ crazy _ bunny who saw in me a chance to not only better  _ myself _ , but maybe show the world that foxes aren't all shifty, underhanded villains.  To make a long story short, I'm a cop because a bunny trusted a fox."

"Judy's pretty amazing in that regard," Esther solemnly said.

"Turnabout's fair play, Ms. Grey," smirked Nick, "Why are  _ you _ a defense lawyer?"

"Coincidentally, it's also because of Judy," she chuckled, "The day Giddy was bused off to his therapy, I set it upon myself to make amends with the Hoppses, being one of the larger families in Bunnyburrow.  I was a straight-A valedictorian in good standing with the community, and could wrap anyone around my little finger as soon as look at them; I figured if there were a Grey up to the task, it'd be  _ me _ .  So, I went to go check up on Judy but I couldn't get within a stone's throw of the Hopps Farm to save my life.  This went on for maybe… two days before I questioned  _ why _ eighteen-year-old me was trying to get in good graces with a nine-year-old bunny ' _ dumb _ enough to tussle with a fox'.

"And then there she was, cheek bandaged but smiling all the while, saying how she 'finally managed to escape' and meet up with me.  I was about to win her over in ten words or less, but she caught me off guard with an apology." Esther set her head back against the seat cushion, bringing up a knee to loop her woven fingers around it, "She said she was 'sorry for getting Gideon in trouble', for 'not protecting him' from the bullies; she thought it was her fault that he turned out the way he did, that's why she tried so hard to make him turn back to the right path.  Not even double-digits but she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, Blue; I'd be lying if I said I befriended her because the truth of the matter is,  _ she _ befriended  _ me _ .  It didn't take long before her parents caught on, though, but Ma talked with Bonnie and, somehow, they agreed it was okay."

"Mothers, am I right?"

"The strangest things," she agreed, "Giddy got back from his therapy but he was already expelled from Woodlands, and on top of that he couldn't  _ look _ at a bunny without stuttering, so he was enrolled into a small group of young 'troubled' predators for home-schooling.  I was there for him as best I could be but he was  _ so _ withdrawn, it hardly felt like he was there at all."  She sighed heavily, both legs pulled up and rubbing them thoughtfully, "Judy became like a little sister to me, so I decided to put my good grades to use and join her in bettering the world.  I wasn't cut out to be a cop, though, so she suggested I be a part of the law another way; I applied to law school as soon as I could and the rest is history."

"Our dear Carrots, setting the standard by 'doing impossible things'," Nick grinned, "Sounds like another day in the life of Judy Hopps."

 

* * *

 

At Nick's behest, Esther decided to stick with her original attire of overalls and a tied shirt, rather than scrounge for another outfit from the room kept for her visits.  "You're the ideal combination of 'small town farm girl' and 'big city defense lawyer', capturing the best aspects of both exquisitely," he described.

"Well, alright," she relented, "but I'm putting on some shorts under these, I feel like I'll fall out if I jump too much."

"But it'll ruin the whole look!" he pleaded.  Her choice of workout shorts beneath the overalls was later lauded as "stunningly complimentary".

In the hour before noon, clouds capriciously shaded the countryside and either fox donned their shades for the walk back to Preds' Corner; Nick with his wide, reflective lenses and Esther with her coin-sized dark lenses, which she kept at the end of her snout more often than not.  Their conversation drifted towards some of their favorite  _ Foxglove _ stories, walking down nostalgia as well as the Brambles' residential, exchanging theories of which were based on historical figures/events and which were simply fiction.

"That's odd," she observed, noting the celebratory banners hanging from the street lamps and buildings of Preds' Corner, now that they were close enough to see them, "Those  _ should _ be the TBR banners, they're everywhere in the Burrow proper, but  _ here  _ they're… I'm not really sure what they are."

"We are lucky, aren't we?" said Nick with a broad smile, sitting his sunglasses atop his brow.  To Esther's questioning glance, he continued, "I can't think of a better way to whet my appetite than to solve a mystery on the way to lunch.  Let's take a look at this piece-by-piece: here we have three white symbols and a phrase on a bright red banner. One of the symbols looks to me a rabbit's footprint inside of a horse's hoofprint, some co-operation between rabbits and horses and no doubt to do with their luckiness.”

“That would represent Bunnyburrow, signifying an age-old truce between horses and rabbits that's rich in tradition and heritage,” Esther added.

"Makes sense,” Nick concurred, “That second symbol resembles a four-winged bird with its head pointed one way and its feet another, perched on a wooden frame with crossed bars behind it.  That strikes me as something, you know, religious."

“The House of Blessings,” she said simply, “Holders of the Hexward Tenets.”

"That third symbol…" he concluded, "My guess, it's a  _ very _ stylized re-design of the  Hexward Pharmaceuticals logo; perhaps a sponsor of the TBR."

"I wonder what 'fortuna regente' is supposed to mean?" Esther asked no one in particular, sliding the sunglasses to her nose and pulling out her phone, " Zoogle , reveal to me your secrets."

"Good noon, Mr. and Mrs. Fox," came the sweet, charming voice of a cordial rabbit, dressed in fine clothes and well-groomed cream fur, "Forgive my intrusion, but I could not help but overhear your analysis of our banner.  You are quite correct, almost perfect, except for the third symbol," he said, and gestured up, "It is no more or less  _ the _ sigil of the Hexward Tenets, which, I cannot deny, the pharmaceutical company's logo is based on.  If I may be so bold as to continue prying, Mrs. Fox, I am afraid you will find naught but mistranslation there, since 'fortuna regente' simply means 'guided by blessings'.  A good noon to you both," he said with a tip of his hat, continuing down the street with mate and children in tow.

"He sure smiled an awful lot," whispered Esther while stashing her phone.

"It's the TBR, practically a national holiday for bunnies.  I'd be stoked, too, were I in his position," Nick smirked, and held out his elbow, "So, shall we,  _ Mrs. Fox _ ?"

"Oh, certainly,  _ Mr. Fox _ , let's," she agreed, sharing a secret chuckle and taking his arm.

The amiable greetings of "Mr. Fox", "Mrs. Fox", and "Mr. and Mrs. Fox" followed them along the street, but to their relief, not at a nauseating frequency, and each time it brought out a bit of kit-like glee.  Something that  _ didn't _ sit well with Esther was how, despite the severe lack of predators or any Preds' Corner regulars, the shops and businesses were not closed for the TBR; on the contrary, they were run entirely by rabbits and the occasional hare.

"You don't visit for a few months and everything changes," Esther griped to Nick.

"Where are we going, anyway?  Sauntering is all well and good, but I'd rather have a set destination," he griped right back.

"A new  Ratatouille opened up nearby; we can slip down this alley for a shortcut," she explained, pointing down a gap between the buildings which was, Nick recognized, thankfully free of rabbits, "I've always wanted to go there, but it's impossible to get a table at the one in Zootopia."

"Somehow Judy grabbed a spot?" he asked with arched eyebrows,  _ Sly bunny, her clout grows by the day. _

"I know, right?  This weekend keeps getting better and better, Blue," she beamed, "I'm afraid I'm gonna wake up in a pool of drool on my desk, or something."

"I'm afraid I'm gonna wake up from a drug-induced coma," Nick snarked, and before Esther could further question his statement, as was evident from her incredulous expression, "I might've fallen face first into a pile of packaged pollen in a Howler den, you never know."

"That  _ happens _ ?" she asked, incredulity not dissuaded.

"Only to Officer Wolfard that one time but he won't  _ ever _ hear the end of it."

"Is he…  _ okay _ ?" the vixen continued, disbelief shifting to concern.

"Nothing a shower couldn't fix."

"And that's not unusual to you?  I've read the reports, Blue, he  _ should _ be a vegetable."

"To his credit, he was lucky enough to fall onto  _ unprocessed  _ pollen, it wouldn't affect him for more than a few seconds," he elaborated, "There was an unrelated call from down at the docks, and I happened to pick up on the trail of a huge shipment.  In fact, I've got some 'wolf-cred' with the pack at the precinct, because I can smell out pollen where they can't."

"Now  _ that _ 's unusual,” she said with a light chuckle, “Wolves are the most sensitive sniffers I've  _ ever _ known.  A wolf at the office takes bets to guess what others had for breakfast the day before."

"Okay, I'll admit it's a  _ bit  _ strange, but it's also kinda cool.  It's kinda like how otters are naturally buoyant or lion dads breathe life into their cubs when they're born."

"You know," Esther recalled, "I hear that some hospitals, especially predator ones, have a nurse lion on standby in the maternity ward, in case the father isn't present."

"Although," Nick considered, "I think if I had a 'cool fox power', it wouldn't be 'detecting Night Howler pollen'."

"Oh, and what would this 'cool fox power' be, hmm?"

"Introductory paralysis," he smiled, "my first impression freezes  _ any _ one I meet."  Esther swatted him with her tail as they stepped back onto the sidewalk.

Around the corner and across the street, the " Grand Opening! " banner was still up and new, as well as the mysterious red banner with the white symbols.  Waltzing up, Nick and Esther doffed their shades and were greeted with the expected "Mr. and Mrs. Fox", by a cheerful maître’d that was informed of their arrival.  Directed towards a corner booth in the back with privacy screens, they both caught sight of a nicely-but-casually dressed Judy and Bo leaning out and waving: she in a drastically over-sized orange-red shirt over a tight-mesh yellow tank top, though belted in such a way that it looked more like a knee-length, broad-sleeved dress that hung off one shoulder.  He had a plain-gray sleeveless shirt under an open button-up, short-sleeve bright orange shirt, as well as a pair of outdoorsy black cargo shorts. Once again, "Mr. and Mrs. Fox" referenced the foxes; Judy barely masked her mortification, such that even Bo caught onto it.

"Oh, Judy, it's wonderful to see you again," Esther said, sliding into the round booth and leaning in so they could embrace and kiss each other's cheek, which helped to calm the gray rabbit a tiny bit, "We really shouldn't wait for a TBR to meet up."

"Something the matter, Carrots?" asked Nick, leaning his elbow on the table, " I haven't seen you  _ this _ put off since Mystic Springs."

"Oh my gosh, I am  _ so _ sorry," she said in a harsh whisper, "I didn't think they'd be so  _ insensitive _ ."

"Sweet Tea, what're you talking about?" Esther asked, "Truth be told, they're politeness is a bit overbearing."

"We gave them your names, though," Bo interjected, "but they still called you 'Mr. and Mrs.  Fox', as if you were mated!"

Exchanging an expression, it took what self-control each fox could muster not to burst into laughter, even though bewildering bunnies was something of a pastime for them.

"Have I  _ never _ told you of 'Mr. and Mrs. Fox'?" the vixen asked, still smirking from the previous merriment, "Idiot that I am, it  _ completely  _ slipped my mind; you probably know them as 'The Foxgloves'."

"You mean that show you and Gideon used to watch every week?" Judy said, face softening to curiosity.

" _ Every _ kit wishes their parents were as cool as ' _ Mr. and Mrs. Fox _ '," Nick began, "They're effectively an urban legend that's been around long enough to be folklore.  Some years ago, all the stories were gathered up and adapted into ' _ The Many Adventures of Mr. & Mrs. Foxglove _ ' for TV, radio, movies, what-have-you.  As a matter of fact, Clawhauser owns some of their comic books," he then leaned in towards Judy, "and you didn't hear it from  _ me _ , but Finnick secreted a major crush on Mrs. Foxglove well into adulthood."

"They're kind of like what Captain Warren is for the rabbit community, then?" Judy postulated cheerfully.

"A little less punching, a little more subtlety," Esther clarified in amusement, " _ My _ favorite is one of the oldest; it's about a noble rogue and a valiant princess that undermine the tyranny of a false king, and free an oppressed people."

"Hey, Captain Warren is the best," Bo asserted.

"I'm more a fan of the modern spy stories," Nick carried on, "but it all started with the tales fox parents told their kits, often to teach about doing the right thing in the face of adversity, trusting in yourself and loved ones, and to present foxes in a good light,  _ et cetera _ ,  _ et cetera _ ."

"I'll need to borrow those comics one of these days, they sound like a good read," Judy considered, and then settled into a comfortable smugness, "Speaking of fox couples, you two look like you're getting along well enough.  Hope I didn't  _ interrupt _ anything by calling you out here?"

"Wow, Judy, that's a bit brazen," Bo said, shifting awkwardly in his seat, "Aren't they cousins?"

"Oh, Sweet Tea, I have news!" Esther burst in, "So, you know how I've spent my adult life trying to find ' _ Uncle _ Jacky'?  As it turns out, I should have looked for ' _ Aunt  _ Jackie'!" and she gestured to Nick as though presenting him.

"My mom, the vixen formerly known as 'Jackie Savage'," he grinned.

"Esther, that's amazing!" Judy gasped, and then clapped her paws together with barely contained excitement, "So Jacky's been a  _ vixen _ this whole time?  No wonder you couldn't find him!  ' _ Her' _ , I mean, 'her'."

"This still makes them cousins," Bo desperately tried again.

"Oh!  Bo, I'm so sorry; okay, quick recap," Esther rattled off with a 'wheel-turning' gesture of her index fingers, "Nick is Giddy's cousin because Ma and Jackie are sisters, but Giddy and I are only half-siblings because of Pa."

Bo seemed unconvinced, quietly listening from across the table with a cradled chin and a furrowing brow, "Hmm…"

"That means we're actually  _ not _ cousins," Nick elaborated.

"I got that, it's great and all, but isn't that still… I don't know, kinda wei-?" he suddenly cut short with a swift twitch of Judy's positioning.

"Bobo, bunnies find their mates on the farm they grew up in all the time, right?" she said, "You're practically a Hopps yourself."

He sighed in resignation, "You're right, I'm sorry.  'Though we are not of the same blood, we are of the same heart.'  I guess it applies to more than just bunnies, huh?"

"For all intents and purposes, Nick and I were  _ completely _ unrelated before this weekend," Esther began, and then looked at Judy's developing smirk to assertively add, "Known  _ only _ by name and in passing."

"Speaking of strangers, where is our waiter?" Nick interjected, "Feels like we've been sitting here forever-"

"Thank you for your patience," appeared a sharply-dressed rabbit, "Can I start you off with some drinks?"

When the meals, at last, arrived after a long debate on the conditions that Mr. Foxglove could defeat Captain Warren and vice versa, Bo was already on his second refill of 'Cream-of-the-Crop Tropical Punch' and Nick finished off three baskets of bread unaided.

"This pheasant is vegetarian," the fox reported, using his fork to lift a piece up to a wrinkled nose and trying a small bite, "The menu did  _ not _ say it was vegetarian."

" _ Mmh _ , so it is," Esther concurred after swallowing her bite, "it tastes alright, like vegetables, but it's not bad."

"Nick,  _ you _ 're a vegetarian," Judy reminded.

"A choice I take seriously, Carrots.  I refuse meat because  _ no _ one in Zootopia knows how to properly make it without patronizing or condemning their clientele," he insisted, "until I tasted Gideon's cooking, that is; so, I thought I'd give it another shot.   _ This _ , however…" Nick stated firmly, turning the  _ faux _ fowl away to focus on the side dish, "I ordered 'pheasant with seasonal vegetables', not 'pheasant- _ seasoned _ vegetables'."

"No dessert until you finish your veggie-bird," Judy said in a motherly tone.

"I already filled up on bread, so  _ hah _ ," scoffed Nick, "Besides, I'm not eating it on  _ principle _ ."

"Sounds like a very mature tantrum," Judy continued, skewering more of her salad to eat.

"Here, I'll eat it," offered Bo, sliding his own salad bowl over.  To this, Nick gladly shoved it from his plate on to a bed of crisp spinach and kale.

"It's unprofessional is what it is," Nick continued, buttering another roll, "If they don't serve meat, they should say so; simple as that."

"Look at it this way, Nick," Bo said between bites, "There's probably a half-a-dozen predators in The Brambles right now --  _ if  _ that -- because they're all off on vacation for  _ at least _ the next week.  That's why a bunch of employment agencies from the city came out and filled in the absence, to keep the shops running and maintained.  If they buy meat, there might be one, maybe two patrons that would eat it, so it makes sense to buy exclusively for bunnies while the TBR is in full swing.  It's only for a week or so, after all."

"…And all the predator shop owners agreed this was a  _ good _ idea?"

"C'mon, Slick, it's not like that," Judy said, "According to my parents it was all part of planning out the TBR.  There was an open town forum about it several weeks ago; even the  _ CEO _ of Hexward spoke with the residents of Preds' Corner and offered to sponsor a week's vacation.  Completely voluntary, by the way, and he even lined up a  _ Caribouan Cruise  _ for anyone who wanted it."

"Ma and Pa were thrilled when they heard that," Esther added, "Ever since she was a kit, Ma wanted to go on a sailing ship, just like Grampub did in his glory days.  Giddy and I were actually planning to gift them a trip on their anniversary, so instead, we gave them what we saved up for an 'all expenses paid' holiday."

_ I'd bet my tail Ms. Clarabelle isn't a resident a Preds' Corner _ , Nick pondered,  _ surely, she'd have jumped at the opportunity of a Caribouan Cruise same as the Greys.   _ "Well, I gotta hand it to Hexward, they sure know how to take care of a town," Nick grinned, "The expense and legal hassle  _ alone _ for something of this magnitude must be mind-blowing."

Judy and Esther exchanged skepticism, but Bo seemed content with finishing off the pheasant-seasoned vegetables.

"This is amazing," the larger rabbit said, "you don't know what you're missing, Nick.  I need to speak with the chef before they leave, find out how they made this so  _ good _ ."

"I'm quite sure I do," the fox replied, "What is both amazing  _ and _ mind-blowing is the fact that you, a bunny, are eating  _ any _ thing meat-flavored."

"I wouldn't say it was 'meat-flavored'," Esther commented behind a napkin.

"That's  _ right _ , you don't know about Bo's little obsession," Judy said, patting his shoulder as he gave her a pleading glance, "Rabbits don't pack on muscle very well, since plant proteins hit a pretty low plateau for us; not like horses, elephants, and other large prey."

"Insects, fish, and poultry work  _ way _ better," he picked it up after swallowing, "But in the ratio to pounds eaten and grams gained, versus availability and affordability, poultry wins out, no contest.  Problem is, rabbits have a problem keeping bird meat down. I figure it's not the flesh itself, it's the taste and the texture, something about it tells our brains to reject it.  Which works fine, for about 99.99% of rabbits."

"But oh, that 0.01%, Mr. Bo Briar," Nick smirked.

"I'm kind of an outlier, but it's not just about  _ me _ , Nick," he continued, setting his fork down, "There are rabbits who are bedridden, anemic, or paraplegic because they can't form muscle tissue faster than their body uses it.  I used to be that way when I was young."

"All fur and bones, this one, but then he grew up and out," Judy beamed, grabbing around his bicep to show how her fingers couldn't touch.  "Went to school, became a certified nutritionist, now using himself as a testing ground for supplements."

"The MMA is still the mountain's peak," Bo said, flexing his arm to increase the distance between Judy's fingers, much to her amusement, "but along the way, I figured I'd do some good.  I might even get an internship at Hexward."

"Oh, really?" Nick asked, leaning on the table with a sly, curious grin.

"Yeah!  I won't be a fighter forever, ya'know.  After I win in the Septagon, I can better market supplements and meals that help promote healthy, organic muscle growth, something practically  _ unheard of _ for rabbits."

"So, what's all… this, then?" he wondered aloud, gesturing to Bo's general physique.

"Years of trial, error, and exercise," the rabbit grinned and jut his chest out, to which his shirt protested the limits of its elasticity, "Those bedridden rabbits I mentioned don't have the luxury of youth and free movement, as I do, they need something to keep the muscle on their bones through a regular, affordable diet.  I'm hoping it might be possible with some kind of spice or sauce, sprinkle it on food, that kind of thing, but I'm a nutritionist, not a cook; heck, I have trouble making  _ toast _ ."

"Pudding and cereal are about the only things he doesn't burn," Judy confirmed, "he eats mostly raw fruits and vegetables."

"If preparing food is your greatest obstacle, I suggest working with Gideon," Nick offered with a grin.

"No offense, but I'll need a more varied menu than pastries," Bo dismissed.

"Giddy does more than pies and cakes, Bo," Esther interjected, setting her fork down as Nick began stacking the dishes at the end of the table, "Those are his specialty, sure, but he runs the gamut of meals, from pastas, stews, casseroles, you name it."

"Last night he made stir fry  _ and _ won-tons," Nick then dramatized lament, "my only regret is that we ate it all, and now there's no more…"

Bo seemed convinced, quietly listening from across the table with a cradled chin and a furrowed brow, "Hmm…"

"I can hear the gears turning from here," Nick whispered to Esther, who nodded sagely.

"I suppose if I  _ did _ go into business with Gideon, I wouldn't need to work with Hexward, necessarily.  With my foot in the door of a drug company, I thought I could at least make a supplemental pill, if nothing else; it'd pale in comparison, sure, but it's better than an injection," he pondered aloud, "The formula's there  _ on paper _ , but it's practically eating dirt mixed with paint thinner."

"Bo, sweetie, I tried it," Judy grimaced kindly, "Dirt mixed with paint thinner would taste better."

As Bo smiled apologetically, the waiter came by to exchange the plate of dishes with the check, a generic cordiality about returning in the near future, and then was off to the kitchen once more.  Nick took a gander inside to find that someone drew a smiling fox face framed in a shield on the customer's receipt copy, with a "ka-poof!" written under it.  _ Is this insulting or endearing? _ he considered.

"Bo," he asked, "what is 'ka-poof!'?"

"Hmm?" he grunted, ears sprung that Nick asked him a question as if he might know the answer, which also earned Judy's curiosity, "In relation to what?"

"Quite possibly Hexward," Nick clarified, letting Esther examine the single slip of paper before closing it, and then handing it off across the table for the bunnies' opinion.

"That doesn't make sense," Judy admitted, leaning the check towards her as Bo read it.

"Well," the earth-toned rabbit said smugly, enunciating the longer words of his response, "I reckon it’s a  _ homophone _ of an acronym for the Hexward company promise: the 'Correct and Proper Use of Pharmaceuticals'; C-A-P-U-O-...P _ h _ ?"

"That's why it doesn't make sense, but I guess it's better than 'ka-poop'," Judy explained, to which Bo bit back a snicker, "Looks like an anonymous benefactor took care of our lunch with, I'm guessing, a company credit card."

"Now I feel bad for not eating that veggie-bird," rued Nick, sliding out of the booth.

"No, you don't," Judy corrected, following Esther around the table as she also exited.

"Maybe a little?" the fox supposed, one paw pinching a thumb and finger close.

"Not at all," the vixen also corrected, accepting Nick's other paw to stand from her seat.

"I was  _ sure _ I felt an iota of guilt for a second there…" he mused.

"See?  Told you didn't know what you were missing," Bo grinned in another attempt of smugness while holding out a paw to help Judy from the round booth; he had scooted out the other side.  Nick begged Judy with a look to enlighten him of the missed nuance, but she kept the fox and his barbed tongue at bay with a stern glance.

The noonday sun was bright on the street so each fox donned their sunglasses, and Bo excitedly dug through his pockets to find his glow-in-the-dark green shades; he flicked the arms using both thumbs and slid them over his face with a content smile.  Judy, already equipped with her own pair of classy, wire-framed sunglasses returned his delight.

"Hey, Esther," Judy said, arching her brows over the frames of her glasses in a particularly communicative manner, "Pedicure?"

" _ Ooh _ , let's!" agreed the vixen, lightly clapping her paws together.

"C'mon, Bo," Nick said, catching the softball prompt by slinging an arm about the rabbit's thick neck, "I do believe I owe you a drink for all your help yesterday."

"Oh, but…?"

"Don't worry, Bobo," she assured, "we're gonna go do girl stuff while you go do guy stuff, and then we'll meet back up in about an hour or so, okay?"  He smiled brightly in response and leaned in to touch his nose to hers.

"So," Nick said, guiding the male rabbit away from the departing femmes, "while they're off doing whatever it is  _ they're _ doing, how about you show me your favorite watering hole?"

"Uh, about that… I don't come around Preds' Corner too often, and I don't really drink a whole lot," Bo admitted.  Nick's patient smile did not falter.

"Right," he said, and then whipped out his phone, "I'll find us a reasonably priced place that's not too far a walk… this one, ' Phil's ', should do the trick."  With a clap to Bo's back, Nick held out his phone like a dowsing rod to lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reference to Lambert the Lion, who in the original cartoon was a lion mistakenly raised by sheep, is here a children's show character with rounded fangs and claws, a wooly-mane, and generally less-threatening features than the everyday lion. Additionally, the "Chronicler tradition" is one of the many in-story, faith-based systems while the "Hexward Tenets" is another; the latter adheres to the use of common superstitions by its practitioners and the former is based on "The Chronicles of Narnia", wherein Aslan is the revered godhead.
> 
> "Retractile dysfunction" is a reference to an ad from the official Zootopia artbook.
> 
> "Ratatouille" directly references the Pixar movie of the same name.
> 
> "Mr. Foxglove" came from an idea I had from the original Zootopia draft its fox super-spy. For those curious, Esther's favorite story is, in fact, the story of Robin Hood and Maid Marian, as understood in this world.
> 
> Captain Warren is the in-story, patriotic rabbit superhero based on Captain America with the major difference being a white four-leaf clover on the shield instead of a star.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I met a horse, one day in spring,  
> who kept a jackrabbit on a string.  
> "Good horse," asked I, "Who's that there?"  
> "Why, I'm his lucky charm!" said the hare.  
> "His ears are long," the horse told me,  
> "and he can hear all that I cannot see."  
> "And I'm quite small," the hare did add,  
> "If I traveled alone, that'd be awful bad!"  
> "But why the string?" I asked them two,  
> "It must surely be a pain for you?"  
> The horse and hare laughed a merry fuss,  
> "This way, we only pay tolls for one of us!"

"We passed  _ two  _ places on the way here, Nick," Bo protested, scratching his head as he looked up at the simplistic ' Phil's ' sign.  The severe lack of foot traffic made it seem abandoned, but from its position in town, it would be a regular place at any other time of the year.

"Cost-to-distance ratio, Punch," the fox grinned, "but more importantly, this unique establishment had  _ no _ reviews in the past two weeks, so it should be relatively free of visiting rabbits."

"Whoa, now hold on a minute," the rabbit protested further, grabbing Nick's shoulder to get his smug attention before he could enter the nearby door, "Why am I 'Punch'?"

"Oh," the fox further grinned, doffing his shades to rest atop his brow, "It's multifaceted, but I'm afraid an explanation would diminish its effect.  You see, Judy is 'Carrots', Gideon is 'Bangs', Esther is 'Cherries', and  _ you _ , ol' buddy ol' pal, are 'Punch'."

"But I don't wanna be ' _ Punch _ '," the rabbit griped, "Can't I be, like-"

"Ah, ah ah," he tsked with a wag of his finger, "You don't get to choose your  _ nick _ name."

"Well, maybe  _ I _ have a nickname for  _ you _ ?"

"I would  _ love  _ to hear it," he dared with a shrugging smile, "after all, I'm already known as 'Slick', 'Stretch', and 'Blue'; respectively.  However, you must choose  _ wisely _ , young buck, for there is a power in names that affects not only me but yourself and all those we hold dear,” he said with mounting theatrics, “A nickname reflects your perception of those whom you name and reveals to all your judge of character; thus, the  _ strength _ of your character."

Bo stood with stony trepidation, once more treating Nick to the machinations of his cognitive gears.

_ He makes this so easy that I almost feel bad about it,  _ the fox mused, and then reached around to clap Bo's back, "And have fun with it, that's the big thing to keep in mind."

Nick entered to the door's quiet swing, a cursory glance of the establishment revealing more than his expectations dared to speculate.  There was the bar in front of a wall mirror and bottles of beverages on display. There were the booths on the facing wall, behind the unanchored tables with chairs stacked atop.  At the far wall were the pool table, a smaller pool table, the jukebox, and the taller standing tables. In the wide, empty floor space provided by moving all the tables was a peach-shirted, fat goat with an extraordinarily red nose, and shaggy, earthen clay red fur.  At the end of the bar was a large, rotund pitch-black boar, who looked like his entire day was dedicated to nursing a tall glass, not even addressing the low-volume news program from the wall-mounted TV.

"You kids lost?" grunted the goat, bent over a broom handle and sweeping a floor made clear by the lack of patronage, "Either pull up a stool or beat it, I ain't got time for goo-goo eyes."  For a goat, he was short, but that still made him bigger, if by only a minor margin, than both the fox and rabbit. He didn't seem altogether interested in their answer either, as he continued his stiff bristling of the hardwood floor without sparing them another moment of attention.

"I like this place," Nick said to Bo, and then walked in, holding the rabbit's introduction with a raised finger as he approached a nearby barstool.  Bracing against the footrest, the fox fluidly seated himself upon the high cushion; he did not forget how to live with larger mammals after only a few days in Bunnytown, after all.  'Punch', perhaps more accustomed to a rabbit-centric society, made his own leap atop the stool in a single bound but was far less graceful about it. Once again, Nick held Bo's query for attention with a single finger, demonstrating proper tavern etiquette by relaxing one's elbows atop the bar and awaiting service.

The sweeping stopped to a cloven clop as the presumed "Phil" came around the side of the bar.  "Pull yer pants up, ya' bum," he reprimanded with a muffled 'thwack' of wood on fat, triggering a guttural squeal from the boar but otherwise no response; until he reached back to apathetically tug a drooping waistline over offending cleavage.  "So, what'll it be?" he asked the newcomers, preparing a mug by wiping it down, although it obviously did not need further cleaning.

"Two ciders for my friend and I," the fox grinned, clapping Bo's back with one paw and showing two fingers with the other, “whatever’s on tap.”

"New to town, huh?" the old goat pointed out, filling a pair of mugs with 'cold gold' and setting out a coaster for each, "Thought all the foxes scampered on out of here."

"Visiting family and friends," Nick reported, taking up his mug and clinking it against Bo's still bar-bound drink for a quick chug.  It seemed Bo's cognitive gears worked overtime because he barely realized there was also a drink for him until it was he heard the gentle collision of glass.  The barkeeper's eyebrow arched with blatant skepticism.

"Oh yeah, sure, all those 'family and friends' out on a cruise," he scoffed, and then looked blankly at the nearby rabbit, he said nothing as of yet.  "And what's a greenhorn like you hopping around my joint for? Figured you'd be with the rest of those cottontails up the street."

"Hey-!" Bo began indignantly, earning a swift, nonchalant swat from Nick's tail.

"He's showing a city fox like me around Preds Corner," Nick explained, "Such hospitality."  Phil's keen eyes returned to the fox and studied him harder, to which he did not surrender even the slightest lip-curl, "How about you, holding down the fort?"

"Like I had a choice," he snorted, "that 'Caribouan Cruise' was a sham from beginning to end.  Would I like to take a week off without worrying about my bar? You betcha, who wouldn't. But that  _ mashugana _ penny-pincher only sends the  _ preds _ !  Oh yeah, sure, us  _ prey _ get a 'discount', if you can call it that," he mocked, hoofed knuckles air-quoting with all the substantial sarcasm available to a surly old goat, but calmed as quickly as he was riled and rested a cheek in his palm, "Anyway, it wouldn't be so bad if it didn't feel like all these out-of-towners are deliberately avoiding the place."

"You yelled at a bunch of kids, Phil, made them cry," the boar said matter-of-factly.

"Shaddup, Erym!" he bleated, flicking at the excess of fur off his chin, "They kept tryin' to pull hairs outta my beard!"

"One of them  _ did _ ," 'Erym' continued, "Another wanted his foot."

"And I gave it!" and then kicked the air.

"I bet  _ that  _ made you popular," smirked Nick.

"Certainly didn't  _ help _ ," the goat grumbled.

"This 'penny-pincher' you mentioned, was that the Hexward CEO?" inquired the fox.

"Who  _ else  _ would I be talking about?"

"That'd be Felix Oswald Lapis," Bo chimed in, and then added proudly, "He's actually one of the biggest philotherians in Zootopia, everything from charities to youth centers to soup kitchens; you name it.  As it so happens, I went to BU on the 'Lapis Scholarship'."

Nick knew about Lapis, of course, since he was neither deaf nor blind.  "Ah yes, Bunnyburrow University," he recalled, or at least, easily reasoned, "where you got your degree in nutrition."

"Yep, 'B the U that U can B!'" he recited, "I got the chance to meet him  _ face-to-face  _ at a career fair, a real genuine sort of rabbit; he was the one that offered me an internship when I got out of the MMA."

"The MMA,  _ you _ ?" Phil snorted, and then guffawed, looking to Erym and pointing a thumb at Bo, "Can you imagine,  _ this  _ cotton swab in the Septagon?"

Bo's ears went pale and tucked behind his head, brow pinching as he seemed conflicted to which negative emotion he should express at the moment.

"Don't discount him so quickly," Nick interjected, "A bunny though he may be, he's no pushover.  I've seen his strength firsthand, and all things considered, I'd say he stands a fighting chance." Bo's face lit up in grateful reverence.

"It ain't 'cause he's a bunny, it's 'cause he's a  _ bum _ !" the goat snapped, "You got all those muscles but you ain't got  _ steel _ !  You think the MMA is a summer camp?  Ya' wrestle around for a few weeks, and then off you go to your dream job at  Hexward ?"  The outburst almost caught Nick off guard, but it certainly glued Bo to his stool.  "Yeah, you must be that 'Bo Briar' I heard about, gonna be the 'first bunny in the MMA'.  Is that your reason to fight, gonna be some big bunny hero? Well, _ whoop-dee-doo _ , you'll get past the preliminaries on dumb luck and be steamrolled by a  _ real _ fighter with a  _ real _ reason to fight.  I've seen would-bes  _ bigger _ and  _ stronger _ than you that couldn't go the distance because they didn't have the  _ heart _ ."

Nick awaited Bo's response, no intent to correct or hush him this time; it was  _ his _ reputation on the line, after all.  However, Bo was neither indignant nor rueful, but starstruck.  "I know who you are… you're Phil Octaves! Nick!" he turned to the fox and excitedly shook his shoulders, "I just got yelled at by  _ Phil Octaves _ , the legendary MMA trainer!"

"Shaddup, kid, I ain't no legend," he grumbled.  Nick's head spun from the violent thrashing and braced himself against the bar, remembering the headache he experienced earlier by touching the side of his skull.  "If you know anything about me, you know not  _ one  _ of mine won a championship.  The 'Cursed Coach' is what they called me, yeah, because whenever I got a fighter up to the final round,  _ some _ thing happened.  Car accident, lawsuit, terminal disease, death in the family; pretty soon, the rookies were so scared something would happen to them, I couldn't get one to save my life."

"So, you retired and opened up a bar in Preds Corner?" Nick wondered aloud.

"What's it to  _ you _ ?" he grumped, and slung the rag over his shoulder, "Is that why you came by here, to mock an old goat about his past?  I guess I  _ should _ be grateful, you two and Erym over there are the only customers I've had since everyone went on that sham-of-a-cruise."

"It was a 'cost-to-distance ratio'," Bo corrected, "and because there are fewer bunnies."

"Present company excluded," Nick grinned and socked Bo's shoulder, and then turned to Phil once more to discreetly rub his sore knuckles, "Although I wouldn't mind asking you about a more recent and general past; let's say, I don't know, Mr. Lapis sending all the predators on that 'sham-of-a-cruise'.  If you'll remember, Bo, Ms. Clarabelle was 'envious' that the Greys were going, and my initial thought is that it was only them-"

"Yeah, well it  _ wasn't _ ," Phil interrupted, "It was  _ all  _ the preds, but only those in Preds' Corner.  You'd think with all his billions, he could afford to include the lot of us."

"Indeed," smirked the fox, "I'm led to believe that Mr. Lapis wanted to use Preds' Corner as a temporary,  _ private _ town for whoever's behind those red banners."

"Yeah, you must be that 'Nick Wilde' character, first fox cop in ZPD history," Phil said, "I s'pose you're here on official police business,  _ Officer  _ Wilde?"

"Me?  No, strictly off duty," Nick answered, and winked at Bo,  _ I'll need to be a bit more obvious with my subtlety around this rabbit _ , he realized, "I do love a good mystery, though, and while I figured out what the symbols  _ mean _ , I'm still in the dark on what they're all about."  Nick sipped thoughtfully from his mug as the nearby bunny almost vibrated in anticipation, and quarter-turned to face him inquisitively, "Bo-?"

"It's the Trifecta of Blessings," burst the rabbit, "each representing one part of the Tri-Burrows.  The hoof-and-foot is-"

"Cool yer jets, kid," Phil interrupted, aptly deflating Bo, and then turned to Nick, "You've heard of the ' _ House  _ of Blessings', right?  They're the ones which decide what's lucky and what ain't.  A buncha superstitious nonsense, if you ask me."

"Hey-!" Bo began indignantly, and was  _ not _ stopped by Nick's swift tail-swipe this time, but rather caught it with his foot and continued, "Those tenets were passed on for centuries, and there is historical  _ proof _ that its practices saved lives.  It's what built the bond between horses and rabbits, after all, and every other mammal in Zootopia."

"Sorry, kid, I didn't realize it meant so much to ya'," he relented, and frowned, "I'm jus' an old, washed-up goat, after all, maybe I'm a bit jaded to things like 'luck'."

"Hey, c'mon, I didn't mean it like that, Mr. Octaves-"

"Call me 'Phil'."

"Right, sorry," Bo said, "I didn't mean it like that, Phil.  You're a  _ great _ coach, the best the MMA's ever seen!  Some mammals are lucky, and some aren't, it's just how things are.  But look how many times you took rookies with  _ no  _ hope and got them to the championship, despite your bad luck."

Phil stared blandly at him, and then scoffed a chuckle, "You're alright, kid."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Then… d'you suppose I could come by sometime for training-?"

"No."

"It was worth a shot," Bo sighed.

Half-past-noon sun flooded the bar as the door swung open; Nick squinted and reflexively flicked his sunglasses back over his eyes.  He leaned around the bodybuilding bulk that was Bo and caught a glimpse of long-eared silhouettes walking in from the sidewalk; frowning, he returned to his drink,  _ Here we go. _

"What a dump," said the lead rabbit, a butterscotch rabbit with dark coffee-colored spots between the ears, wearing a light jacket over a polo shirt.  He scoffed at the interior, "Are you closing up early, gramps? Because  _ that _ 's an awful lot of empty space."

"It smells weird in here," said another rabbit.

"Hey, ya' mind closing the door?" Phil asked, "You're letting flies in."

The group, some four male bunnies, swaggered in and allowed the door to swing closed.  "He doesn't even have the pool tables up," complained another rabbit.

"Hey Grav, isn't that 'Mr. Fox'?" asked the fourth rabbit.

"Ya'know, I think it  _ is _ ," answered 'Grav', walking up to where Nick and Bo sat at the stools with his paws in his pockets, "And what luck, he's got  _ Bo Branches _ with him, too.  How ya' doin', Branches, still digging up rocks?"

Those at the bar remained still, the burlier rabbit begging for cues from the fox, but the former-hustler remained icier than his cider, which he sipped in the ensuing lapse of conversation; Bo followed suit.  With an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, he set his mug down with only a bit remaining, before he turned half-way about and reclined an elbow on the bar, one leg crossed over the other.

"My good gentlerabbits, I was wondering when you'd catch up," Nick began with a broad smile, and then gestured to Bo, who fully spun around after draining his mug, attempting to copy Nick's casual position, "I was talking with my friend here about that charming group of yokels -- excuse me,  _ locals _ \-- following us through town.  You gave quite the chase, too, I was so sure we lost you after that drainage pipe."

"So, all those 'shortcuts' were-?" Bo began.

"A tour through town, of course," Nick quickly said with a wink, setting his sunglasses back up on his brow to do so, "They certainly kept pace despite running along fences and through alleys; wouldn't you agree, Bo?"

" _ Um _ , oh!" the larger rabbit realized, "You betcha, real athletes, they are."

"I don't know what you’re talking about, fox, me and my buddies were on our way to  Phil 's," Grav shrugged, "It's a happy coincidence you were taking the same route as us, that's all.  So how about you and your boyfriend move over a few stools, so we won't have to split up the group?"

"Well, Mr. Briar and I were about to leave after I finished my drink," Nick explained, leaning back to reveal the remaining cider, "it'd be awfully silly to move beforehand."

"I ask nicely and I get lip.  Typical  _ fox _ ," he scoffed over his shoulder to his snickering buddies, "Look, I'm gonna ask again, but it's gonna be less nice this time.  But ya'know what, I'm a patient rabbit, so I'm willing to give you the opportunity to reconsider your answer, now that you're a bit more knowledgeable of the situation you're in."  Grav pulled his paws from his pockets and put them on his hips, casually holding the flaps of his jacket back to reveal a prominent rectangular outline at the front of his trousers.

Nick, still smiling in his casual way, turned his back to them and chugged the rest of his cider.  Leaning off his seat, he pulled out his wallet and set some bills on the bar for their drinks, and then spun around again to slide off; as he hoped, Bo also dismounted from his stool.  "Hypothetically speaking," Nick said, taking a single step towards Grav with one paw pointing to the ceiling, and the other paw hanging by the thumb hooked into his waistband at the front, "I could beat a dumb bunny like you with one finger," and waggled the gesturing digit.

Grav closed the distance immediately and yanked Nick's face in by the necktie, "Who're you calling a 'dumb bunny',  _ fox _ ?"  The dark hatred in his eyes and the crimson anger in his ears drained pallor to the crackle of electricity from below his belt; whatever piss and vinegar that was in him now soaked his slacks.  The 'one finger' which Nick held up nudged Grav to fall back on the floor, gentle wisps of smoke rising from burn marks on his crotch.

"Dumb bunny reason #1: you keep a fully charged 'fox-taser' tucked into the front of your pants," Nick began, stooping over and tugging Grav's shirt to reveal the aforementioned item, which he carefully pulled out to remove the batteries, "Reason #2: you paid the extra money for a ' _ fox _ -taser'," he continued, tossing the batteries onto the shallow-breathing, butterscotch rabbit, and setting the taser on the bar behind him, "Reason #3: you fell for an  _ obvious  _ trap by stepping in close enough for me to activate said taser.  If you have a weapon,  _ use  _ it, before your opponent does."

The remaining three rabbits were neither amused nor deterred at the defeat of their leader.  One reached into his jacket and pulled out a knuckleduster. Another flicked his wrist to conjure a knife.  The third, a larger rabbit, stood in the back for a very specific reason, tapping the end of a metal bat along the hardwood floor as he walked around and shouldered the bludgeon.  Phil ducked behind the bar some, keen eyes watching the conflict unfold; Erym, in his usual manner, remained disinterested on his favorite stool.

"Well, we  _ tried  _ to find the middle ground," Nick said with a shrug and then exchanged glances with Bo; for the first time since they met, the nuance was understood.  They both approached the trio calmly, walking around Grav's weak gasps towards the cleared floor, and did so in such a way that the group of rabbits split for a pincer position; the bat-wielder on Nick's side, and leaving the other two for Bo.

The fox continued walking in a wide arc around the bat-bun, almost waddling as he favored one foot and then the other, his bushy tail sweeping behind him prominently.  As he suspected, the bat-bun's eyes caught sight of the tail, and yet tried to stay on Nick.  _ You're a strong one, ain't ya'? _ the fox grinned and dove forward in a zig-zag as his tail spun like a propeller behind him, triggering the brutish rabbit's reaction to strike with all his might in a wild swing.  The cudgel approached and, as the fox knew it would, grazed the fluff-and-flex of his tail, harmlessly throwing the rabbit off balance as Nick slipped by and outside the attack.

He reached inside the rabbit's forearm, turning on a dime to pivot and rake his claws along the flexor muscles, strong enough to relax them but not enough to cut the flesh.  His other paw cradled the newly released grip, grabbing the handle of the bat and, using his tail for balance, swung around and behind the rabbit. Nick followed the momentum in a wide, spinning arc to collide the bat with the rabbit's skull, and his tail swept the rabbit's legs; the hooligan fell against the floor face-first like a ragdoll.  While at the academy, Nick could not wrestle or box like the other cadets, but he excelled in a feint-and-disarming technique that even Judy herself could not yet counter.

Leaning on the bat like a cane, Nick turned to face Bo, and the result was exactly as he suspected: victorious and unscathed.  With Bo's strength and reach, it was obvious from the first that he could take them each out with a single strike before they realized what happened.  "How's it looking for you over there, Punch?" Nick asked.

"They bored me,  _ Gloves _ ," he shrugged but grinned.

_ Cheeky _ , thought Nick but grinned right back.

"I jus' swept this floor, and now there's  _ bums  _ all over it," Phil snorted.

"Want us to 'take out the trash', as it were?" Nick asked, nudging at a knocked-out rabbit with the tip of the bat.

"Nah _ -ah-ah _ , I know these punks, and I've got some calls to make about 'em," he bleated, "Hey you, Bo."

"Yes, sir?" he answered, ears up as he stepped over his defeated opponents.

"That wasn't  _ bad _ , but it wasn't good, either," he grunted, "Your footwork is sloppy and you leave yourself wide open with each attack.  These bums are pathetic, so you got lucky this time."

"Well, see, I'm mostly self-taught-?"

"Maybe if you had  _ proper _ training, you might be halfway decent!"

Bo, at a loss, glanced to Nick, who arched his brows and jerked his head at the broom to further prompt the rabbit.

"I don't suppose you've got an opening?" he asked, but added, "For a job, I mean.  I could sweep, I'm fairly handy with tools, and I could keep out the riffraff."

" _ You _ ?  Keep out  _ riffraff _ ?" he guffawed once in mockery, "I'd have to keep a constant eye on you to make sure you're doing it  _ right _ !"

"Great!" the rabbit beamed, "I can-"

"Start by moving these  _ bums _ out of the way and set my tables back in place!" he cut in.

Nick offered to help, but Phil wouldn't hear of it, pouring the fox another glass of bitter cider to keep him busy; they watched Bo singlehandedly reset the tavern to its full operational positioning at the harsh instruction from the goat.

"I don't think I've ever seen someone so happy at manual labor," Nick whispered.

"He's a good kid, lots of potential," Phil whispered back in a much more understanding tone, "but he needs to go through the fire and come out stronger if ya' catch my drift.  MMA is big leagues, ya'know, only the best make it through there, and he can't be the best with that soft head of his."

"And what about your 'curse'?" the fox smirked.

"That's peanuts to a rabbit's luck," scoffed the goat.

"Come on, Phil, you can't be serious."

"I can feel it in these stubby, old legs of mine, the kid's brimming with it."

"How d'you figure?" Nick asked.

"He knows you, don't he?  I'd say that makes him the luckiest rabbit in the world."

Nick wasn't sure if the goat was sincere or not, so he took a moment to sip and ponder what kind of luck a fox could  _ possibly _ bring a bunny.  It was at least an hour past noon by the time everything was back in place, and as Nick's second mug was emptied he made to pull out his wallet, but again, Phil wouldn't hear of it.

"It took him twenty minutes to do what I couldn't in twenty  _ hours _ over this past week; I can't accept payment for the third drink from you guys.  And you," he said, pointing at Bo, "ya' barely broke a sweat after all that. Don't get cocky, kid, 'cause if you ain't sweatin', you ain't workin', and there's only work that gets done  _ here _ ."

"Yes sir, Phil," chimed the bunny.

"Looks like we're off, Punch," Nick smirked, pulling out his phone and checking a text message as they stepped outside, "let's go see what crazy things girls do to their toes."

"Where are we meeting them?" Bo asked, donning his sunglasses after peeking over Nick's shoulder.

"At the  Perk & Park , a few minutes' walk from here," Nick answered, setting his own shades in their place.

"No 'shortcuts' this time, Gloves?" the bunny asked wryly.

_ I'll make a proper fox out of you, yet, _ he smirked, "No need, our stalkers are currently indisposed of; that old goat is probably calling their parents right now."

"I can't believe that Grav's still around," Bo grumbled, fists audibly clenching, "and still such a  _ jerk _ , too."

"Sounds like you two have history," Nick speculated.

"Yeah, you could say that…"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but is he the same bunny that bullied you and Gideon?"

"You heard about that, huh?"

"Bits and pieces, here and there."

"He's always been a jerk, ever since Woodlands," Bo huffed, and then added, "that was our grade school.  But yeah, Grav Hopps, you were either  _ with _ him or you were less than  _ dirt _ ."

"Grav  _ Hopps _ ?"

"Different Hopps than Judy; at least I think so, anyway.  There's probably some distant relation, but I never asked about it," Bo's face softened as he continued, "Judy was one of the few bunnies that stood up to him, that didn't get taken in by his honeyed words; he even had most of the adults thinking him some  _ perfect  _ little angel, but us kids knew better."

_ These are the markers of a manipulative sadist, not some punk with a fox-taser tucked in his drawers.  I might've fallen for a trap myself, if that's the case, _ Nick dreaded,  _ No, he'd have tucked that taser into someone else's drawers and sent  _ them  _ forward.  Still, he's not done with me, I'd bet my tail on it _ .  "Making friends; every day, making friends," the fox said in a lazy sing-song tone.

"Don't worry, we won't come after  _ us _ again anytime soon.  Heck, he didn't go near Gideon for a  _ week _ after eating dirt."

"Such carefree optimism; I remember when I was like that."

"What, do you think he'll be out for revenge or something?"

" _ I _ would be, if I were him," Nick instructed, "Bullies  _ never _ leave the playground, Bo, that is far too much power and control to leave behind with so arbitrary a limiting factor as  _ age _ ; they either reform into productive members of society, like Gideon, or they turn downright malicious, like Grav.  He followed us for a  _ reason _ but never got the chance to say what it was, so you can bet folding money he'll turn up again."

"That was like a  _ warning _ , then?" Bo realized.

"One that did  _ not _ go his way," Nick boasted, " _ but…  _ try not to mention the little scuffle when we rendezvous with our fair maidens."

* * *

Esther and Judy sat with colorful bubble teas on the patio outside of the  Perk & Park Cafe , leaning over the vixen's phone for some reason or another.  Judy's ear sprung at their approach, so Esther stashed her device.

"Hi guys, I hope you didn't have  _ too _ much fun without us?" Judy asked, pivoting in her seat and crossing one leg over the other, nonchalantly showing off her newly painted, vividly rosy-red toe-claws.

"Oh, wow," Bo said immediately, stopping and stooping to get a better look, even cradling them with care in his mitt-like paws; Nick made his way around to sit adjacent to Esther and slung his arm over the back of a chair.

"Mine aren't too shabby, either," she said, looking down at her wiggling toes.

He tilted his head and glanced, smiling politely, "Yes, I daresay that's some fine handiwork on the part of the pedicurist, but it's hard to tell from all the way down there."  Esther leaned slightly back to raise her foot impeccably until the glittery-purple toe-claws were eye level and almost touching his nose. "Hmm…" Nick continued, studying the foot with an appraiser's eye, bracing the ball of her sole and the heel with the tips of his fingers, " _ Ahh _ yes, an excellent shade of violet sprinkled with subtle sparkle; quite reminiscent of a  _ particular _ kind of shorts worn by Gazelle's dancers."

"I'm something of a fan," admitted Esther, "I wore my bangs the same as hers for the longest time."

"Indeed, but that's not all," he continued, walking his fingers down to her ankle and then her calf, earning quiet giggles along the way, "Take careful note of the taut muscle and firm arch; these are the legs of not only a jogger, hiker, and swimmer, but also those of a  _ kickboxer _ ."

"For fun and exercise," she said as Nick returned her foot.

"Bobo, why are your knuckles all scuffed?" Judy quietly broke in, passively sniffing the air, and then sat up to sniff around his mouth.  Nick's fur stood on end as she threw down the larger rabbit's paws, not due to any surprise of her restrained fury, but in the realization that Judy's claim-to-fame in the precinct was reading trouble on a perp like a fortune teller read Tarot cards, "Were you in a  _ bar fight _ ?"

"But Nick-!" Bo started.

"Turncoat!"

"Nick!" both femmes turned on the fox.

"It was self-defense!" he pleaded.

"You're supposed to be a  _ cop _ , Nick!" Judy fumed.

"We're gone for  _ one hour _ and you get into a  _ brawl _ ?" Esther accused.

"Bo and I were enjoying our drinks in peace, and then some punk came at me with a fox-taser," Nick explained, "What was I  _ supposed _ to do?"

"One had a baseball bat, another had a kni-…  umm…  _ knuckle _ dusters, these guys were armed and  _ looking _ for trouble," Bo added.

"Why were you in some  _ seedy _ bar in the first place?" Judy demanded.

"We were trying to get away from that  _ very  _ group of ruffians," Nick hastily continued, "they followed us from the restaurant, even though we endeavored to lose them.  Isn't that right, Bo?"

"Y-yeah!" nodded the rabbit.

"So you beat them up?  Are they  _ okay _ ?" the vixen also demanded.

"Are  _ they _ okay, what about us?"

"They wanted us dead for  _ no  _ reason whatsoever," Bo insisted.

"One probably has a concussion, and I think the other guy's still in shock," Nick carefully elaborated.  Bo couldn't help but snicker before the fox swatted his shoulder with a flick of the wrist, "The other two got the wind knocked out of them, but they should also be fine."

"And it's not like  _ we _ started it; he tried being civil about it," the brown bunny said, pointing to the fox.  The girls were still visibly irate about the whole thing. Bo, bless his heart, tried to soften the situation the only way he knew how, "Nick was really cool about it, too," he cheered, thus focusing both of their attention on him and his eager self; shrinking back some, Bo trailed off at the end of his statement, "he used their own weapons on them, and that's how it started."

"You used your feint-disarm technique?" Judy asked, ears up and looking to Nick intently, uncrossing her arms to lean on the table some, "How'd it work?  I mean,  _ clearly _ it worked, but how'd it feel in a  _ real _ fight?"

"Judy, we're still mad at them."

"Well, yeah, of course we are," she agreed, "I've wanted to see his technique in action ever since he got out of the academy, but Nick can't exactly go  _ into  _ a Howler Den, so I don't have a lot of chances to catch it outside of sparring matches."

"Am I the  _ only  _ one here still taking this seriously?" Esther challenged, "If they ever decide to press charges, it'll be a  _ firestorm _ of hearsay testimony.  Maybe one of them belongs to a powerful Bunnyburrow resident, or worse, a powerful  _ out-of-towner _ ?  This could mean  _ huge _ trouble for you, for the ZPD, for that seedy bar you went to-"

" Phil's isn't 'seedy'," Nick insisted, "it's quite a respectable place."

"Oh good, you have the name of the establishment, at least," scoffed the vixen.

"And the 'punk' who got tased with his own taser," Bo said, and then leaned in and whispered, "It was  _ Grav _ !"

" _ Grav _ ?" Esther asked in tangible disbelief.

"Grav  _ Hopps _ ?" Judy asked, for sake of clarification.

"You threw down with Grav and you didn't  _ invite _ me?" Esther huffed in a moment of lapsed composure, "I'm even  _ more _ peeved, now; what I'd give to kick  _ him _ out of the gene pool!"

"Well, not to dig myself a deeper hole, Cherries, but I might've stolen your thunder," Nick extrapolated and smiled apologetically, "I didn't use the taser on him,  _ per se _ , it was more like he had the thing stuffed down the front of his pants and I turned it on."

The ambient noise of the cafe and the street drifted like a mist through the airy silence which followed.  The faces of both girls scrunched and lips curled back as they exchanged knowing glances, paws covering the mouth or bracing the forehead as their shoulders shook in restrained laughter.

"Oh, my gosh-" whined Judy.

"You  _ didn't _ -" Esther choked back.

"Right in the-?" snickered the bunny.

"I mustn't laugh at the pain of others-" the vixen breathed.

Nick glanced at Bo, whom bit on his knuckle as he caught the contagious laughter.  Smirking, the fox suddenly grabbed his own crotch to make crackling electricity noises, jostling in his chair to mimic the act of being electrocuted.  The others at the table were, in all their maturity, only able to restrain their uproar of merriment by a slim margin.

"Nick, you're terrible-!" Judy wheezed, grabbing her ears with her forehead to the table, snickering still.

"I  _ mustn't _ laugh at the pain of others-!" Esther cried through a clenched jaw, clutching her sides as he shook with bottled giggles.

Bo clapped his paws over his mouth to laugh into his palms, glanced at Nick, and winked.

_ …Well spotted, Punch, well spotted _ , Nick loosed his most convincing guffaw and leaned back in his chair, huffing softly and wiping away a nonexistent tear,  _ After all, who doesn't like to share in a laugh? _  He waited until the stifling calmed and the other side of the table managed to breathe normally once more.  "I wouldn't be too worried about any legal issues, Cherries," Nick said through a chuckle, "We have two witnesses who saw the whole thing: Phil, the owner, and a boar named 'Eyrm'.  Plus, I'm sure I spotted a security camera in the corner of the ceiling.  _ If _ Grav decides to come forward, which I sincerely doubt, we have all the evidence we need to prove that  _ he _ was the instigator and that Bo and I acted in self-defense."

"We're still mad you two got in a bar fight," Judy asserted but smirking some.

"We're glad you're both okay, though," Esther agreed with a sigh of relief.  It seemed the two were waiting for the right moment to reveal it.

"So, Esther," Bo spoke up as the tension loosed to a more manageable level, ears forward, "you're a kickboxer?  I thought I saw the fighter's poise in you."

"I don't 'fight' though, outside of sparring with my instructor," the vixen grinned, "I find it's a  _ bit _ more cathartic than yoga."

"Not as cathartic as a good laugh, though," Judy giggled.

"That was terrible of us to laugh, it's really not that funny," Esther insisted through a snicker.

"Oh  _ please _ , it's about time someone put that playboy in his place.  He struts around Bunnyburrow like he owns it," she then smirked deviously as she sipped more of her tea, "He won't get to use his favorite pickup line anymore, though."

"What 'pickup line'?" Bo asked, brow furrowed.

"About how he'd make 'beautiful children'.  He used it on  _ me _ more than a few times- Bo?" she said, looking at the rabbit rising from the table.

"Hold-" Nick quickly reached up and grabbed the back of said rabbit's shirt-collar.

"I'm jus' gonna go punch him in the-!"

"Cool your jets," the fox instructed, "he wouldn't feel it anyway."

"He'll go after anything that breathes, it's absolutely  _ disgusting _ ," huffed Esther, and then shivered, "The little sicko tried it on  _ me _ once; I felt like I needed a hot shower- Nick?"

"Let's go, Bo," Nick resolved while standing from the table, releasing the rabbit's shirt at an affirming grunt.

" _ No _ ," Judy commanded, "because Bo and I have a lot of work to catch up on.  My parents need all the help they can get with the TBR officially starting  _ tomorrow _ .  They let us have yesterday and today, but I think their patience is wearing a  _ little _ thin."

"And  _ we _ should check in on Giddy, Blue, I'm sure he wouldn't mind someone keeping him company," Esther said.

"Bah," scoffed Nick, pulling out his sunglasses to flick them open and gesture in a haphazard sweep at Judy and Esther, "Girls and their  _ rationality _ .  My dear Punch, it looks as though our paths must part, so I entrust Judy in totality to  _ you _ ."  He grinned and slid his shades onto his snout with a single, communicative wink.

"You can count on me, Gloves," the rabbit said, pulling his glow-in-the-dark sunglasses from a pocket, and by some fluke, flicked his wrist to don them in a single fluid motion.  There were no cognitive gears this time, only a simple, satisfying click which the fox, if he were entirely honest with himself, enjoyed most of all.

"We're going to the same place, drama queen," snarked Judy, adjusting the classy frames on her nose, "Ms. Clarabelle offered to come by and pick us up on the outskirts of Preds' Corner."

"Does she live nearby?" Nick asked,  _ If so, she'd be another prey denied an affordable vacation on the cruise ship.  Although, all things considered, it turned out for the better that she stayed. _

"Not  _ really _ ?" Judy shrugged as the group ventured out towards the sidewalk, she and Esther tossing their empty cups in the trash, "She comes here often enough, though, so it's not out of her way."

"Before I forget, Ca-," he began, and cleared his throat,  _ Nicknames are all well and good, but I'm not pushing my luck with all these visiting bunnies hopping about _ , and pointed up to one of the scarlet banners hanging from a streetlamp, "Judy, what's the story behind these?"

"Those?" she asked, glancing over her rims at the overhead display, and smiled warmly, beginning to explain before addressing the larger, eager bunny, "An integral part of rabbit history, right Bo?"

"The Trifecta of Blessings," he began in appropriate pomp, finally able to resume his earlier exposition, "represents each of the three major burrows: the hoof-and-foot crest is Bunnyburrow, the oldest and  _ largest _ of the three; it was the first established safe-haven for rabbits in Zootopia."

"It was built with the cooperative efforts of horses and bunnies," Judy continued, "rumored to spark the initial bonds of modern respect and luck for mammals everywhere; with the bunnies' skill in agriculture and the horses' strength, they thrived through some of the darkest times of recorded history."

"It's believed that this bond, as well as the bond between lions and zebras, is what built the foundation of trust for Zootopia," Bo concluded.

Nick gave a curious grunt as he looked up at the banner, raising his phone to catch a picture of it as they headed out of Preds' Corner, "Learn something new every day."

"That one represents a burrow which is actually part of the city itself," Judy continued, glancing over at Nick's phone and pointing to the symbol that, she explained, was "two blackbirds perched on a windowsill.  It's the Knotash crest, the 'House of Blessings', which along with the Hexward Tenets (that's the last symbol), is the acting authority on the teachings of luck in Zootopia."

_ If you believe in stuff like that _ , the fox pondered, recalling Bo's defense of it back at the bar, "I thought the third burrow was 'Deerbrooke'?" Nick asked.

"It is," Bo agreed, "It's still got plenty of bunnies in it, though, mostly hares; I'm from Deerbrooke, but I don't remember much of it since I left when I was really little.  The symbol is a stag's antlers etched on a shield," he put his thumbs behind his ears and splayed his fingers to pantomime a set of deer's horns, but was quickly corrected for such a socially sensitive gesture by a single throat-clearing from Judy, "For protection against  _ dark magic _ , thus, 'hex ward'."

"I always thought it looked like a fox's face."

Bo grunted in thought, "I don't see it."

"See, that's the nose, there are the ears," Nick pointed out, "Still 'No'?"

"So which came first, Hexward or Deerbrooke?" Esther asked, climbing up onto a collection of boulders not too far from the road that led from Preds' Corner to Bunnyburrow proper; a shady sapling grew between the stony cluster with a crooked trajectory, but the four found it a fine place to wait for their ride.

"The Hexward Tenets were around longer then bunnies and horses have been working together," Judy answered, "Accounts differ, but it's said to have started as a barn-based, bunny-run apothecary in the woods where Deerbrooke is today."

"A barn for the acorn farm, was it?" teased Nick.

"Well, 'barn'," she quoted with a flick of her fingers, "it was more likely a safe house where they kept supplies and housed any mammals too big for the rabbits' warrens."

" Hexward Pharmaceuticals uses a variation of the Deerbrooke crest because that's where Felix Lapis and Mr. Stagmire are both from," Bo continued.

"The 'Miracle Makers' themselves," Nick gesticulated, "Made a tidy fortune, they did, with a veritable Renaissance of modern medicines less than a few decades ago, including a personal favorite of mine: an allergy pill that kept the fox-flu  _ mostly  _ manageable."

"No need to brag about it, Blue," smirked Esther with a roll of her eyes, "That stuff was  _ expensive _ out here in the sticks back then, so we sufficed with good old fashioned grit and home remedies.  'What doesn't kill you', as they say."

"Only giving credit where credit is due, plus, I like to hear myself talk," assured Nick, but spoke quickly, "For example, Buckley Stagmire sold his own shares in the company to run as Assistant Mayor to Lionheart in their first campaign; before his nerve paralysis made it  _ impossible _ to hold office, anyway.  They did rather well in their single term, many say; I know  _ I _ enjoyed an upturn in business," he smirked, and then pondered his punchline aloud, "We really have the  _ worst  _ luck with mayors in Zootopia, don’t we?"

"How long have you been holding onto  _ that _ one?" Judy scoffed.

"All year."

"Before we get into politics, let's finish our talk on religion," Esther gingerly reprimanded of her fellow fox, before turning to the bunnies, "What's 'fortuna regente'?  I must've found a  _ dozen _ different meanings from  Zoogle ."

"Oh,  _ that _ ," scoffed Judy with a dismissive wave, "It's a quaint phrase, more offhanded if anything."

"We could argue for  _ days  _ what its original intent was," shrugged Bo, "The devout say 'guided by blessings'."

"And the cynic says 'ruled by luck'," Judy continued.

"At the risk of stirring anything up, what do  _ you _ say?" Nick asked both bunnies.

"We make our own luck," she smiled and leaned into Bo.

"We respect the basic tenets," he continued, putting an arm around Judy, "but we keep it in the realm of common sense."

"If I break a mirror, I'm gonna clean it up and get a new one," Judy explained.

"And walking under a ladder is un _ safe _ , not un _ lucky _ .  Whoever is working up there might drop something, or an unattended ladder could fall at the slightest nudge," Bo elaborated.

"Wishing someone 'good luck' means you'll hope things go their way."

"And that right there's the important part: respect and love for others."

Esther smiled contentedly as the bunnies took turns talking, "It sounds like you two gave this a great deal of thought."

"And what about Phil, the 'Cursed Coach'?" Nick asked pointedly at Bo.

"That's… different," the rabbit began, "It's the weirdest thing, and there are conspiracy theories all over the MMA forums about it, but there's  _ nothing _ connecting all the stuff that happens to his fighters.  'Bad luck' is the only way to explain it, for lack of anything better."

"Phil Octaves?" Judy asked, "I thought he disappeared  _ years _ ago?"

"Oh, right!" Bo said, reminded of his excitement, "He's the 'Phil'  _ of  _ Phil's , and he's gonna train me… err, rather, he's going to  _ hire _ me," he then winked at Nick, "and maybe I might get some extra training in on the side."

"He's been in Preds' Corner all this time?" she said incredulously, and then pointed at Nick with a smirk, "And  _ you _ happened to stumble into his bar on the  _ one _ day you hang out with Bo?" Nick simply shrugged and rolled his eyes in dramatic self-amusement.

The earthen-brown rabbit suddenly reached up and grabbed Nick in a headlock, yanking him down to drill a noogie into his skull; much thrashing ensued, "Yep, he's my lucky fox!"

" _ No _ , he's my 'lucky fox' because I found him first!" Judy declared and noogied a different part of his head while tugging an ear.

"Esther, help!  Call the police!" he struggled, to which the vixen could only hold her sides in fits of laughter, "Fox abuse, fox abuse!"

"Okay, you two, cut it out," she giggled, and then when Nick was set back on his boulder, quickly leaned up to touch her nose to the sensitive fuzzy spot between his ear and cheek, "Because he's  _ my _ 'lucky fox'."

Nick's ears flared brilliant scarlet as his composure flickered for a single instant, before they relaxed back; he straightened his tie to face her, but was glancing between her and the bunnies, "Madam,  _ please _ , we are in polite company and it simply wouldn't  _ do _ , unmated foxes that we are," he said in a playful, proper tone.

The vixen cleared her throat, said "Right" with a bashful smile and pinned back her own scarlet ears, trying in vain to tuck a bang behind one.  Judy gave her a  _ significantly _ knowing smile, which Esther attempted to stare down.

"Right," Nick said with a quick snap of his fingers to gather the attention of those in earshot, "Last question, I swear: these 'Knotash, the House of Blessings' and 'The Hexward Tenets', does it say anything in their bylaws about keeping the company of a fox, versus keeping the company of fox _ es _ ?"  Esther leaned in curiously, remembering that part of their conversation from earlier.

"Umm…" Bo considered, brow furrowing to the gentle machinations of cognitive gears, and then scratched his head as though it could further the process along, "N-… oh, maybe?  There was something I read, a long time ago, that 'seeing a fox was good luck'…"

"So far, so good," Judy chimed in.

"…But something else about how, specifically, 'a  _ family _ of foxes was bad luck'," he recalled with a dumbfounded shrug, "I mean, you'd think it'd work one way or the other, but not  _ both _ .  Sounds totally made up, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil Octaves (pronounced with a long 'a') is based on the character Philoctetes or "Phil" from Disney's "Hercules".
> 
> Felix Oswald Lapis is based on Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, one of the first characters animated at Disney; "Felix" is Latin for "the lucky" and "Lapis" is a combination name referencing rabbits and the color blue (for his shorts).
> 
> Grav... I'll be honest, I have no idea where Grav came from. He just kinda... popped into this story and made himself known. Let's see what he does~
> 
> Finally, I would like to introduce Buckley Stagmire, my fanonical Assistant Mayor before Dawn Bellwether. My reasoning for this is that Dawn's presence in City Hall didn't quite seem to fit... and not simply because she is a ewe but because there doesn't seem to be any real... chemistry between her and Leodore. Easily hand-waved, perhaps, that he was simply that terrible a guy and she the victim of his neglect and bullying but I keep looking at those boxes stacked outside her "office" and her ultimate plan to subjugate the predators in the city; I couldn't help but think there was more here. So... what if there was another Assistant Mayor before her, one that Leodore was good friends with and trusted with a "down the hallway walk" wherein he -- the brains of the outfit -- and his own team of assistants presented all the minor issues that a mayoral office deals with to the face of the outfit; a system of blind trust in a well-oiled machine that Leo had grown accustomed to but Dawn could not replicate. It also didn't make any sense that an Assistant Mayor (whomever they were) was relegated to the boiler room... unless their office was still being remodeled to better fit their size and species; it's possible that since Dawn wasn't keeping up to Leodore's high standards, his patience with her waned until we get the current situation that they were in. Bear in mind, this does not justify Leodore, it only follows a line of logic beyond any "foregone conclusion". For his part, "Buckley Stagmire" is an intelligent deer with a name to match Leodore Lionheart's own pomp and circumstance; as it so happens, he makes a cameo in another Zootopia fanfic of my amazing friend, NieveLion, called "[To Mend a Broken Hart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18357548/chapters/43465277)".
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Let us first address the fallacy of the colloquialism 'crazy as a fox' and its offense to foxes. First, as a generality, foxes are not offended by the label of 'crazy; second, foxes prefer 'sly as a...'; and third, there is rarely only ever a singular happenstance when dealing with foxes, so the term 'crazy' is often attributed to the state-of-mind of other mammals when foxes are involved (thus, is then projected onto said fox). Whether a fox is, in fact, innately crazy or not is yet undetermined (and will likely remain so until such a time when enough foxes can sit still long enough to be psychoanalyzed for a proper scientific study)."

At long last, Ms. Clarabelle's pickup truck drove off the dirt road and onto pavement, giving those riding in the bed much-needed relief from wayward dust and the odd bump.  Nick insisted on squatting, with a dual death grip of rope anchored at both ends to the truck's bed-frame, at least until they reached a "reasonable speed".

"Your first time in a farmyard pickup, Gloves?" Bo teased, comfortably standing with his paws folded behind his head.

"My first time riding with Ms. Clarabelle," answered Nick,  _ Judy drives worse than this, but for crying out loud, at least the police cruiser has seat belts. _

Esther stood with her palms on the cab's roof, smiling as her bangs whipped around her face, sunglasses resting as near her eyes as was bearable.  When the elderly bovine first arrived, the vixen was doted upon and greeted, but she clearly appreciated when Judy offered to sit in the cab (rather than any of them).

It occurred to Nick that it was perhaps  _ he _ who should have taken the front seat, rather than risk life and limb in the back of an unsecured pickup truck, but he foolishly accepted an unspoken challenge from Bo and immediately regretted it.   _ I've taught him too well, _ Nick lamented, however glad that he wasn't prone to car sickness.  Perhaps it was better that Judy sat with Ms. Clarabelle, though, since it was she who needed to convince the old biddy not to talk about their involvement with Gideon's whipped cream; he likely  _ could _ , but it was a razor's edge to keep a secret which could so easily slip and open the floodgates of awkward questions.   _ No, Judy knows her better, she'll handle it _ , Nick reasoned, placing all trust he could muster into his partner; whatever trust not already invested in the rope twined around his wrists, that is.

Even Bo's introspection wasn't enough to quell the fox's fear of bouncing out of the truck's bed, and soon voiced his realization, "Now that I think about it, there was something 'lucky' about having the 'hair of a goat's beard' in your pocket.  Can you imagine, walking up to someone and plucking fur off their face for a good luck charm? I guess that's why he yelled at those kids, huh?"

"It actually lends to the idea of what kind of bunnies we're dealing with at this Reunion," Nick reasoned through the occasional clenched jaw, "and reminds me of a conversation I had with Gideon this morning about ironroot trees.  Esther," he said, looking up to the casually standing vixen, who braced with such nonchalant grace at each turn and bump,  _ I might swoon from awe or terror, Ms. Grey, maybe both _ , "are you familiar with the paradoxical concept of a low-tech society inside the Knottedwood, living in such close proximity to the outstandingly  _ modern  _ city of Zootopia?"

"Definitively," she said with a smile, sitting down to address the stressed fox, "Ma says it's how they want to live, though; so long as it doesn't hinder anyone else, what's the harm?"

"I only mention it as a thought exercise," he continued, reflexively gesturing with his paws only to grab hold of the rope even tighter.

"If you want, I can ask Ms. Clarabelle to slow down a smidge," Esther offered.

" _ No _ , thank you," Nick insisted as politely as he could, catching the hint of well-earned smugness on Bo's face; he countered with his own confident grin, "I've gone through worse than this.  Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Unless I'm sorely mistaken, the foxes of Knottedwood and the rabbits practicing the Hexward Tenets are  _ similar _ in the idea that they are… well, I won't say 'antiquated' or 'rustic', I'm sure their communities are delightfully modern in their own way, but they are a microcosm of much more…  _ traditional _ ideologies, which, I believe, is what sets them apart-"  He relaxed as he spoke and spoke to relax, as was his way, and  _ further _ relaxed as the truck evened out on a nice straightaway.  Per his habit, he gestured to enunciate the exposition, forgetting for a crucial instant the very real fear of being thrown from the bed of the truck; as the road turned sharp to run parallel along the fenced-off treeline, and the truck found a particularly nasty bump in the road, Nick cleared both the side of the bed and the fence in his trajectory.  Suffice to say, there was quite a bit of yelling involved.

It was not the same part of the woods he and Esther walked through earlier that day.  No, that part was surely at sea level, while Nick face-planted into foliage at least some several feet below.  It took the fox a few moments to gather his wits after coming to; it was clear that not only was he thrown from the truck, but also down a steep slope and by some miracle, hit  _ none _ of the overhead roots on his way into soft mulch.  Regardless, his head throbbed with pain and a dull ringing, but he managed to check for any open wounds.

_ No blood _ , he wondered,  _ but I'm sure I'll have a nasty bump or bruise somewhere on this noggin of mine.  I want to think this is simply another sinus headache if it didn't feel like it combined with both migraine and a hangover, which is perfect, by the way, I’d hoped that cider wouldn’t hit me so soon.  I guess I should be grateful I'm conscious at all.  _ His mind buzzed with its millions of thoughts as he groaned, rubbing both sides of his head and breathing slowly, deeply while trying to sit up.   _ It's dark here, yet it was still the early afternoon last I checked.  Was I out for a few hours? No, can't be, otherwise, there'd be sirens or bright lights from whatever rescue they called in. _

Looking about, it felt like he was in some kind of grotto beneath the trees, and his eyes had a problem adjusting to the lack of light.   _ Even better, I knocked out my night vision.  Okay, I need to let them know I'm alive, _ he thought with a flick of his thumb across the touch screen of his (thankfully) retrieved phone; unfortunately, it had, as Esther might say, 'gone all nuts'.   _ Great, stupendous, I'm near some ironroots, or whatever they are _ .  He growled, inhaling through a harshly clenched jaw at a particularly painful throb,  _ I wouldn't mind this so much if it at least made sense! _

"-sil!"

_ Huh? _

"Bas-!"

_ Dawson? _  He desperately scanned for the flashes of dull green and red flickering in his vision, but any attempt to focus on his hallucination scattered it like an out-of-tune TV.  It wasn't the time to go crazy but even if it  _ was _ only his own mind, he welcomed the chance to talk to someone.  "There must be Night Howler pollen in here after all," he said aloud, and the sound of his own voice seemed to echo quiet and weak, as though his ears were plugged.

"Bas…il!" Dawson said again, but Nick could only hold his head between his knees, groaning louder as he raked his claws across his head in frustration.   _ Oh _ , he considered, and raked his claws again, softer, finding that it helped a little bit.  The margin of relief was enough, breathing in through his nose with a deep inhale and out of his mouth in a slow exhale to the rhythmic combing (breathing exercises Judy insisted on teaching him).  He glanced up; Dawson's visage was still like static but flickered to someone slimmer, and any sound was only a scattered fuzz. The pain between his ears remained, but he watched whatever his subconscious wanted to show him in pure desperation, disregarding the protests of his waking mind.

It was Esther, crouched with a comforting smile that moved to syllables he couldn't yet place.  Her well-lit image didn't match with the surrounding gloom and it looked as though she wasn't wearing his purple shirt like before, but his mother's floral dress, the one from when they went to lunch on Friday; she even wore the short-brimmed hat (with a gray feather sticking out of it), tilted back so he could see her blue eyes.  Her mouth continued to move and he soon recognized what were the sounds of the song she sang earlier that day: the same song his Mom sang when he was a kit. As he remembered more of the song, even some lyrics tucked away in his kithood, the static cleared and her voice rang as a quiet bell, scattering the pain and the grotto's harsh darkness.  He sighed with welcome relief, rubbing behind, about, and inside his ears.

"Thanks," he said softly, to which she smiled softly in response; he found that his voice no longer hit his ears in that weak echo, but in the normal tone, "As you probably know, being my subconscious and all, Mom sang that song when I had the fox-flu, too, but I guess I never connected it as you or Gideon would.  I'll have to remember that the next time I have a headache, and to  _ not  _ readily discount psychosomatic treatments."

He stood to dust off the forest floor that accumulated from his head down to his toes, and then finished with a straightening of his tie.  There stood Esther in his Mom's dress but alongside Gideon in his Dad's tailoring outfit, complete with vest, jacket, and glasses. "Okay, I'll need some help on this one," he admitted cynically, wagging his finger at the stouter, smiling, shrugging fox.

"Nick?" cried Judy's voice in a distant, desperate plea.

"Judy!" he called back through cupped paws; his hallucinations returned to the back of his mind.

"Nick!" she called again, "Are you hurt?  Can you walk?"

He surveyed the dim grotto and realized how far down he really was, some several feet below (at least a story, maybe two) where he could make out the crest of the steep slope.  "I'm okay!" he called up at a long-eared silhouette peeking through the gap in the roots, likely near the beginning of the path he flew, "Give me a minute, I think I can climb out!" he claimed,  _ Hypothetically speaking, anyway. _

"I see him!" came Esther's voice.

Nick looked up at a less-long-eared silhouette, and then called out, "I'll be right up!"  He walked toward the slope directly beneath the small hole of light and took a moment to study the winding roots.  Nick found he was sure-footed if he imagined  _ how _ he'd traverse a particularly precarious terrain; it helped him give Grav and his goons a chase through Preds' Corner (thankfully, Bo's own athletic prowess and bunny-agility allowed him to keep pace), and in the numerous times he and Finnick had to escape hostilities via the 'secret pathways' of Zootopia.  The grotto was no different, except that in the darkness he found he could imagine his path a little clearer than in bright light,  _ Ahh, the eyes of a 'skulker', _ the fox mused _. _

He took a running start and leaped onto the coils of some winding roots, getting his claws into the wood to hoist himself up.  Indeed, his police training once more proved useful through the cultivation of lean muscle and stamina; since he was not being chased or otherwise inconvenienced, he could take his time to envision his climb from one arching root cluster to the other.  Until he thought he saw something whisk by in the dimness below, and felt his fur stand on end. Wary of the forest floor, he tugged onto some long, rope-like roots to test their strength, and continued his ascent… if a bit quicker than he initially intended.

"I've got him!" called Bo's voice.  Indeed, as soon as Nick jostled the natural rope, he was drawn up like a bucket from a well and yanked out by the collar of his shirt.

"Nick!" sobbed Judy and Esther, launching themselves on him to embrace.

Ms. Clarabelle bawled, as well, throwing herself to her knees and gathering up Nick, Judy, and Esther.  Great tears poured down her cheeks as she apologized, doted, and promised never to speed again, all in a tumult of simultaneous statements.

"Ladies, please, you can't get rid of me  _ that _ easily," he assured.

Judy and Bo gave him a once-over physical inspection, she with her knowledge of police procedure concerning trauma victims and he with his knowledge of how to recognize workout-related injuries like sprains or twists.  Meanwhile, Esther tried her best to calm Ms. Clarabelle, who seemed convinced that she killed Nick with her reckless driving. As far as breaks went even his sunglasses were unharmed, which he put back on his face in the early afternoon sunlight.

"I shouldn't have challenged you like that, Nick, but I wanted to impress you because I thought you'd think better of me if I could be clever," Bo said.

_ An odd thing to apologize for, it's not like he pushed me from the truck bed or anything. _

"I should've known better than to take the front seat, Nick because you're always so jumpy whenever I drive but I let you sit back there anyway," Judy said.

_ Look, I chose to sit in the back of the unsecured pickup truck, so that's on me. _

"I should've told Ms. Clarabelle to slow down, Nick, but I didn't want you to think less of yourself because you didn't think you could handle it," Esther said.

_ That… where is this coming from, anyway? _

"Ground control to Nick, do you read me?" came Judy's voice with a few snaps of her fingers, and Nick's vision burst open with a blinding light as he felt the sunglasses pulled from his face, causing the fox to wince before she put the sunglasses back on.  "You spaced out for a solid minute there, plus your pupils are dilated," she explained, "I don't think it's anything serious, but we should get you to a doctor, just in case."

"No, no no, I'm fine," insisted Nick,  _ Yep, that's Night Howler pollen, that is _ , "I only need to get my wits about me, is all; I'm nothing without my wits."

"Alright, but you  _ need _ to take it easy, Slick, at the speed you went flying, it's a miracle your neck isn't broken," she said, feeling behind his jaw.

"It's not the first time I was thrown from a speeding vehicle, and if I have anything to say on the matter, it won't be the last."

"How's the patient, Sweet Tea?" asked Esther.

"His snark levels are dangerously high, but I'm afraid if  _ that _ didn't knock some manners into him, I don't know  _ what  _ will."

"My snark took  _ years _ to build up," boasted Nick as he rose to his feet, "It'll take more than a little plummet into certain doom to break it."

After several minutes Ms. Clarabelle was once more in a state to resume driving, but wouldn't go  _ any _ where unless everyone was buckled up inside the cab.  While sharing a seatbelt was  _ technically _ frowned on in the city of Zootopia, out in Bunnyburrow the restrictions were a bit more relaxed, so the smaller mammals could take advantage of the cow-sized seating arrangements without worrying about the present law enforcement.  It was a bit cramped, admittedly, but everyone was securely fastened. Nick and Esther were in the middle, with Esther closest to Ms. Clarabelle, while Judy and Bo took the window seat, on account of Bo's broad shoulders, who leaned on the armrest.

"Well, that was exciting," Nick said, closing a water bottle after a quick drink and putting it in the nearby cup holder, "Now then, what was I talking about before I so rudely interrupted myself?"

"The aerodynamic properties of foxes?" suggested Judy with a grin.

"Oh, Judy," pouted Ms. Clarabelle, "it's not really a joking matter, is it?"

"On the contrary," the fox said, "Aside from what my Dad will do to me when he finds out what happened to this shirt, no serious physical harm came of it.  Besides, I think the  _ gravity _ of a situation is softened if one  _ wood _ but laugh at their own  _ fallings _ ."  Each pun elicited another tittering giggle from the elderly bovine which, aided by some supplemental laughter from the audience, visibly relaxed Ms. Clarabelle until she sank back into her seat from her previous spinal rigidity.  Discretely, Nick and Judy exchanged a fist bump.

"Oh, lookie; shouldn't be too much longer, now," the cow reported, noticing the fairgrounds.

Nick craned his neck to get a good look out the window, "Remarkably empty for the biggest event in a generation."

" _ Oh ho ho _ ," Ms. Clarabelle tittered, "Of course, how silly of me; the TBR isn't held in the same place as the Carrot Days Festival, my dear, it's  _ much  _ too big for that."

"In that case, I have another city-fox question: where  _ is  _ the TBR being held?"

"I keep forgetting you're not from here, Nick," apologized Judy, "After the centennial celebration thirty-one years ago, the following TBR was moved to Horseshire, since it's the only place in Bunnyburrow with enough space to hold all the festivities."

"Next city-fox question…"

"As you know," Judy interjected, "Bunnyburrow was started by horses and rabbits, which back in the day were nomads and gatherers, respectively.  When they settled the land, they established farms for the bunnies and ranches for the horses."

"I  _ see _ ," speculated Nick, "and the likely reason why Horseshire is a part of Bunnyburrow -- but not vice versa -- is because the name was chosen  _ democratically _ ."

"Top of the class, Slick," smirked Judy.

"I think it's safe to say this'll be the first TBR for everyone present," Esther remarked with a hint of glee, and then looked to Ms. Clarabelle, "With a single exception, of course.  What was  _ your _ first TBR like?"

"Oh goodness, that was  _ decades _ ago, my strawberry shortcake," she said to Esther, but seemed happy enough to recall it, "I was in my teenage years, always a tumultuous time, and the TBR was still held at the fairgrounds back then.  It was simply  _ magical _ , and though I didn't know it yet, it was where I met my future mate, rest his soul…"  She grew solemn and wistful a moment, idly driving, "And then at the Centennial, I was allowed to be part of the festivities with my own booth; what a  _ thrill _ it was.  We -- my mate and I, with our twin girls -- volunteered at the next TBR, but there was a waiting list!  I wasn't lucky enough to get on it, nor on this year's; 'such is life', as they say," she tittered, "That's why I'm  _ so _ happy to know that your brother will be using  _ my _ cream for his pies."

"According to my parents," Judy began, "the TBR planners were  _ very _ restrictive to who they let participate; the festivities were open to the public, of course, but the booths were meant for family members or very close friends."

"So, how'd Gideon get into such an exclusive selection?" Nick asked, "The TBR doesn't strike me as the type to tout 'First Fox Vendor'."

"Come on, Blue, have a little faith in the acceptance of bunnies," chided a smirking Esther, but then spoke to both him and Judy, "Maybe Stu and Bonnie got him in like they did with the bakery?"

"They were as surprised about it as anyone," admitted Judy, "Don't get me wrong, the whole Hopps farm is happy as can be for him; it's a big step towards the betterment of rabbit/fox relations."

"Were they  _ really _ ?" asked Ms. Clarabelle, "With your grandfather on the TBR board, I figured Bonnie convinced him to bring Gideon on?"

"Wait," Judy said, "Grandpa Reggie is on the TBR board?  Since  _ when _ ?"

"Oh, since  _ always _ , my little honeysuckle; at least as far as  _ I _ can remember.  I saw him once back when I volunteered to vend my wares but he said that 'the waiting list had a waiting list', and I missed my window of opportunity.  He was genuinely crushed I couldn't get in, so I didn't feel  _ too _ bad about it," the elderly cow recounted, and then tittered, "Like I said, Gideon's quite lucky to have gotten on; I wonder if it has something to do with that town meeting during the Pred-Scare?"

The smaller mammals of the truck cab were electric with potential questions but it seemed only one actually managed to get asked by Judy, "What town meeting was this, Ms. Clarabelle?"

"Judy, my love, didn't you know?  It was in the early days when all those  _ terrible _ attacks were happening in the city.  No one knew about that  _ evil _ Bellwether's plot yet, and were afraid that everyone in Preds' Corner could snap at any second!"

Judy and Nick looked at Bo, who said, "I think I was  _ literally _ under a rock at the time; actually got stuck for a few hours."

Judy and Nick looked at Esther, who said, "Not exaggerating,  _ the  _ busiest I've ever been in my life; felt like every predator in the city needed an attorney and everyone in the office worked thirty-two-hour days."

The four looked back to Ms. Clarabelle, who continued unhindered, "It was simply  _ dreadful _ ; I still get shivers thinking about it.  The whole town was divided on what should be done about the predators of Bunnyburrow: there were some who said they should be  _ locked up _ , and others said they should be…" she lowed, biting back the thought and taking a trembling breath, "No, I shan't consider it; we are  _ civilized _ mammals, after all."

"I can see why they didn't say anything about the town meeting," Judy said, and seemed hesitant to say something more before Bo grasped her paw; she breathed and patted his knuckles reassuringly, "I'm okay, Bobo."  The foxes exchanged a concerned glance as Judy addressed Ms. Clarabelle, "I know they approached Gideon about the business deal; was that after the town meeting?"

"Oh no, it was  _ during _ ," the old cow revealed, "The  _ whole _ town was in an uproar when she said 'we shouldn't fear our neighbors'; some twisted her words, saying that 'preds shouldn't  _ be _ our neighbors', while others accused her of hypocrisy and other things unbefitting a bunny of her stature.  The Hoppses were always above reproach, but your mother tested the town's respect by holding out her phone and  _ declaring _ that she would call the Grey household right then and there!  As you can imagine, dear Gideon was a bit infamous when it came to the Hoppses, so the entire hall went  _ silent _ ; you could hear a  _ pin _ drop."

"Giddy hardly left Preds' Corner for  _ fifteen years _ , but they still hung that around his neck?" Esther asked incredulously, and then plaintively, "Sweet Tea, you told me  _ you _ forgave him in your heart the day it happened, right?"

"I  _ did _ !" Judy pleaded and cleared her throat as Bo kept his grip on her paw, the other rubbing at her back.  Nick's brow furrowed with deepened concern.

"Oh dear, I've stepped far beyond my bounds," worried Ms. Clarabelle, "Forgive an old ninny, sugarplum-"

"I think the events that followed are fairly clear," Nick broke in with sweeping nonchalance, "A deal is struck between rabbit and fox for good, honest business, and said rabbits move said fox into -- what I can only imagine was back then -- a solitary, otherwise abandoned little shop at the end of a street; but still  _ very _ much visible from town.  The Hoppses put their name on the line and invested all their credibility in not simply  _ any _ fox, but  _ the _ fox made notorious by his name  _ screamed _ across the heavens a decade-and-a-half prior.  With Bonnie's clout and Gideon's infamy, surely, this gambit is the edge of the Abyss for Bunnyburrow.

"For a time, Stu and Bonnie are not only Gideon's business partners but likely enough his sole  _ prey _ customers, until Sheriff Longmare is brought around by regular,  _ continuous _ false reports of 'suspicious activity'.  Luckily, 'there is no bad publicity'. With the combined high-quality produce of the Hoppses and the  _ divine _ baking skills of Gideon, he becomes -- if memory serves -- one of the 'top pastry chefs in the Tri-Burrows' in but a few short weeks."  He then turned to Judy and gingerly lifted her chin, dropping all accumulated pomp in sincere speech, "All thanks to  _ your _ shining influence, Carrots."

Judy looked up at him with short breath, but then her grip on Bo's paw relaxed and she blinked away the mist in her eyes with a soft chuckle, "Oh,  _ stop _ ," she recovered with a smile, and then playfully pushed the fox's shoulder.

 

* * *

 

The sun sat in its mid-afternoon sky, still a golden warmth against the cooler blue over the vast, rolling hills of Horseshire.  If a city-fox might be stunned by the size of a farm in Bunnyburrow, then the open space housing the TBR would stupefy.

"This is  _ all _ Horseshire?" Nick asked incredulously.  As soon as he had the chance to exit the truck and stretch his lanky self, he clambered onto the roof of the vehicle to survey the impossibly huge tract of land.

"Oh, Nick, be careful!" dreaded Ms. Clarabelle.

"Don't worry, ma'am, the truck is stationary and turned off," assured the fox.

"It's  _ the _ largest open space in Zootopia's territory," explained Judy, nimbly hopping up to join her partner, "home to not only horses, of course."

"Oh, Judy!" the elderly cow continued to dread.

"Get  _ down _ , you two; you're worrying our dear Ms. Clarabelle," scolded Esther.  When they were back on the ground, she referenced a text message on her phone to determine Gideon's location in the TBR, holding it for the group to glimpse.  "This booth number means nothing to me," she stated simply, "without a directory, that is, so let's find us an info desk."

"Are you joining us, Ms. Clarabelle?" Bo asked.

"If you young folk don't mind, of course," she said, already walking nearby, "I always love seeing my red velvet cupcake."

"I see what you mean about nicknames," Bo whispered to the fox, putting a paw over his mouth as discreetly as he could.

"It means she is a very  _ sweet _ individual, and sees others the same way," Nick explained and wished he had his phone out to record Bo's look of dawning realization.

The TBR was rife with activity, walled off with tents and canopies between what looked like permanent, horse-sized structures.  Great reams of balloons were being lifted into the air with colorful streamers trailing behind them and tethered to towering poles.  Rabbits and hares of all colors worked in tireless pandemonium alongside the careful hoof-fall of horses and ponies alike. One such horse stood guard at an opening in the picketed fence surrounding -- at least that part of -- the festivities.

"I'm sorry," he said sternly, putting out a hoof to halt the group while balancing a digital pad with the other, "but the TBR isn't open to the public during setup."  Nick was always amused at how horses operated fine-manipulation electronics with what was effectively a rock hinged at the end of their arm; typing with their lips also made for exquisite irony.  That particular stallion had the customary rubber "gloves" which made the "holding" and use of such objects a great deal neater.

Ms. Clarabelle tittered before Nick had a chance to convince the guard otherwise, "We're not simply part of 'the public', goodness, half of us are closely related to either a participant or an  _ organizer _ of the TBR.  Why, I'm surprised you don't recognize young Esther Grey, her brother Gideon is a vendor, you know, and Nick here is his first cousin on his mother's side."

"Oh,  _ umm _ , I see," the guard considered, tapping and dragging at the screen to scroll through a list, perhaps, "It's okay if they go in, then, but-"

"And  _ surely _ you wouldn't deny entry to the granddaughter of  _ Reginald Hopps _ , he's on the TBR board, after all," the elderly cow continued in a sweet lowing, with a gesture towards Judy as though presenting a flower arrangement.

"Ah, hello Ms. Hopps!  Alright, she's also fine, but he-" the guard tried, looking at the earthen-brown bunny.

" _ He _ is 'Bo Briar'; his strong back and youthful vigor will be put to  _ good _ use helping to set up the festivities."

"I don't think I have him on my-"

"Young Mr. Horsecollar," she began in -- what Esther would designate as -- her 'proper tone', "if you  _ continue _ to impose such a  _ difficult _ time on me and my friends, I will  _ certainly _ have a few words with your father about your  _ rudeness _ !"

The guard flinched, cleared his throat, and took a step back, "Y-yes, of course, Ma’am," he said, and smiled as politely as he could, "Have a nice day, everyone."

"You were actually quiet through that whole thing, Slick," Judy whispered, "You sure you're feeling okay?"

"One-hundred percent, Carrots," he whispered back with a wry smirk, "I savor the chance to see a master at work; so long as I'm not the mark."

"Ms. Clarabelle, a master  _ hustler _ , really?"

"She could convince the lot of us that the sky was made of tapioca if she wanted," he mused, still whispering, "We're lucky she's tempered by a strong moral compass."

"Do you two want to share with the rest of the class?" Esther asked coolly, also smirking.

"Again with the sneaking," Nick remarked, "I should tie a bell to you, or better yet, one of those house arrest anklets."

"Do they come in green?  Drab gray clashes with most of my wardrobe."

"Oh look, they set up tent booth markers," Judy pointed out, and took a moment to figure the direction while Bo scratched his head in thought, "Let's see… Gideon should be down this way."

"Alright, now taking bets," the fox piped up, "I wager that his booth will reflect his shop, as a solitary tent set apart from everyone else."

"So cynical," chided Judy, "Very well,  _ I _ wager that his booth will be indistinguishable from adjacent vendors'.  It's still a big step towards rabbit/fox relations, after all."

"Looks like it's up to  _ me _ to make the logical wager," sighed Esther, "They'll have him in one of the established buildings because he'll need to make more pastries than his van can carry, ergo, he'll need consistent sources of electricity and running water."

"This must one of those guessing games young foxes play with each other," Ms. Clarabelle merrily observed.

"Come on, Bo, that means you, too," Judy grinned, "What is Gideon's booth like?"

"Uh… yellow?" Bo answered.

"'Yellow'," Nick repeated, brow quirked.

"Yellow… striped?" the brown rabbit shrugged.

"It's settled, then, Bo's wager is 'yellow-striped'," Esther officiated, glancing up at the uniformly off-white tents.

"Thirty-eight… thirty-nine…  _ that _ one, over there," Judy counted off, and then they stopped to witness what was, undeniably, Gideon Grey's booth; there he was, cleaning out a mobile oven hooked into a generator, with an accompanying water spigot whose hose trailed off to a gathering cluster of other hoses.  It fit snugly between two off-white tents, which were empty with signs designating names on each. The tent itself was not, in fact, purely off-white, but covered in broad, vertical yellow stripes. "Well, I'll be darned," Judy admitted, "yellow stripes."

"You set it up, didn't you?" Esther calmly asked Bo, who smiled as wide as he dared (and hers characteristically subtle).

"I'm not part of the  _ official _ set-up crew but they ask for my help if I'm in the area; I think they ran out of regular tents because this one was last minute," the larger rabbit said, "I didn't recognize the booth number, at first, but it came to me after Judy pointed out the markers."

" _ Sly _ bunny," Nick smirked, and held out his paw, "Up high, Punch; you earned it."  The rabbit happily clapped his palm to the fox's, much to Ms. Clarabelle's great delight.

"Hi Gideon!" Judy called, hopping up to hang by her elbows on the counter.  A dull clang and a grunt of pain answered before the stouter fox pulled his head out to rub it.  " _ Ooh _ , sorry," she winced, smiling apologetically.

"No worries, Jude," he replied, managing a half-grin as he closed up the oven, "I needed to get my head outta there, anyway.  Oh hey, everyone's here!" and grinned wider, "Wow, Nick, what happened to  _ you _ ?"

"I went for a dive in a leaf pile to clear my head," he answered, examining the persistent mess of his shirt and a minuscule tear in the shoulder, "Do you have a sewing kit on you?"

"Of the many housekeeping skills Ma taught me, sewing was not one of them.  You'll need to get your Dad to fix that up for ya'."

"He's the very fox I'm trying to avoid showing this shirt to," the Nick smirked, "Don't be surprised if the next time you see me, I'll be a snappy three-piece suit."

"So why're y'all here?," Gideon said, smiling as he leaned on the counter, "I wasn't expecting to see you lot until dinner time."

"We thought we'd check in, see how things are going," the gray female said, smiling brightly at the pastry chef.

"Our dear bunnies are stopping by before heading off to TBR business, and since everyone present is already aware, I figured I should let you in on the good news of the day," the Grey female said, hoisting herself up to sit on the counter, one leg crossed over the other, "This'll be less of a shock for you, little brother, but our mysterious 'Uncle Jacky' is actually ' _ Aunt _ Jackie', mother of mutual acquaintance Nick Wilde."

"Well now, don't that beat all!" chimed Gideon, "I guess that makes us official cousins, huh?  I should've figured there was some 'Savage' in you, what with those green eyes of yours. They're just like Ma's, huh, Essy?"

"Oh, so they are," she admitted offhandedly, glancing at Nick's face momentarily.

"Only a quick look this time, Esther?" Judy teased in blatant implication, having helped herself to some counter space by lying face-down on it, head up in a palm and idly kicking her legs behind her.

"Lest I lose myself in their depths,  _ yes _ ," Esther dramatized with feigning swoon, the back of her paw to her forehead.

"The  _ other _ reason foxes wear sunglasses," Nick told Bo, "We're innate hypnotists, so we need the darkened lenses to keep our powers under control."

"Okay, I don't think  _ that _ one is true…" Bo said in growing confusion.

"Blue, are you filling this poor bunny's head with  _ Wilde _ stories?" Esther accused, leaning in with a stern look.

"That's something of a  _ Grey _ area, Cherries," Nick recused, narrowing his eyes and leaning towards her.

"Would you two kiss already?  The suspense is killing me," Gideon snorted.

"But they can't stand each other!" Bo suddenly blurted out, ears back and paws forward, earning a group-wide look of bewilderment, "They've gotten on each other's nerves more and more by the second!"  There was a long, awkward silence that followed, and when Judy made to answer Bo's frustration, Nick looked at her with a quick shake of his head and then to his fellow foxes, and even up at Ms. Clarabelle, before expectantly back to the bodybuilding bunny.  With his brow furrowed Bo took a long, deep breath, put his palms together, exhaled, and then answered, "This… is a  _ fox _ thing, isn't it?"

"Bingo," Nick said immediately with a warm smile, snapping his finger and walking over to sling an arm about the thick neck, even leaning on him a bit, "Now, for the grand prize: walk us through this 'fox thing'.  We'll need quiet from the audience, please."

"Umm…" Bo replied, rubbing his arm as he looked to Judy, who sat up and smiled, mouthing, 'You can do it'.

"Think back to everything you've seen and heard," the taller fox explained, "You know the correct answers; simply let the information roll about in your brain, trust your gut, and answer honestly."

"Foxes… tease each other because they like each other?" Bo began after a long minute.

"We call it 'bantering', but go on," Nick urged.

"You and Gideon 'banter' because you're… cousins?"

"Yep!" said Gideon, but added, "Same as me and Esther, except we're siblings."

"You and Judy banter because you're… friends?" Bo guessed.

"You're doing great, Bobo," Judy cheered.

"You and Esther banter because you're… umm…" he faltered, blushing a bit, "Is 'courting' the right word?"

"Three-for-three," answered Esther with a grin.

"So, do  _ we _ banter?" he asked Nick, pointing between them.

"Of course, Punch; you're my rival," the taller fox replied, and then punctuated his statement with a pat of the brown-furred cheek, "And I'm  _ winning _ ."

"But!" he flustered as the taller fox slipped away, wildly gesticulating, nostrils flaring and loudly snorting, eyelid twitching before he managed to calm himself, "So, what, am I the butt of your jokes?  Am I at a negative score, or something?"

"Of  _ course _ not," Nick said, and held up both of his paws with all fingers splayed, palms facing out, "Do this."

Bo crossed his arms angrily.

"Humor me," the taller fox insisted.

Bo looked at Judy, who nodded, so he rolled his eyes and mimicked the gesture.

Nick reached out to fold in a thumb and a pinky on one of his Bo's hands, "You have  _ this _ many."

Bo glanced down, unamused at his six extended fingers, and then back up at Nick's smug smirk.  He glanced over at Esther's pleased expression, and then to Gideon's playful grin. Finally, he looked at Judy's patient smile, before turning to Nick with his shoulders marginally heaving.  "So what's the difference between you and Grav, huh?" he asked, throwing his arms up to raise his voice and lean in, "If all you're gonna do is  _ mock _ me!"

Nick, unphased, relaxed his smile and put his paws into his pockets, "I'll go ahead and give you the answer, Punch because I took no pleasure in that outburst.  Listen carefully. Do you hear that? That is the sound of no one laughing. Not a single guffaw, chortle, snicker or chuckle that you could not also join in on. In all your dealings with Grav, only one of which I had the honor to stand by you, what was the common element?  Mocking. Laughter.  _ At _ you, not with you; a distinction I must stress."

Bo listened, each word gradually draining the deep red indignation from his ears until only the normal pink remained.  He wavered a bit as he stood, his soft hazel eyes locked onto those intense green irises.

"We foxes banter to strengthen ourselves," Nick continued, "It's a big, mean world out there, full of idiots and malcontents that would love nothing more than see the spirit of others crushed.  While other predators are bigger and meaner, us little guys don't have the advantage of size or numbers, so we make do the best we can. Not to put too fine a point on it, but this world doesn't trust foxes a whole lot, maybe that's partially our fault, but that means a fox cannot give or accept trust frivolously.  Do you remember what you said, or  _ almost  _ said when we first met?"

Bo breathed steadily but gulped when he realized that the question wasn't rhetorical.  He glanced to Judy, and then the other foxes, before nodding to Nick.

"You were absolutely right," he revealed, his expression lifting to a smile, "Trusting a fox  _ is _ an awful lot of trouble, most mammals simply don't bother because us foxes find it hard to trust others in return; I'll admit it's something of a catch-22 but you'd best believe that once you have that trust, we'll always have your back.  After all, if a fox can't trust a fox, who can they trust?"

"Maybe foxes  _ are _ innate hypnotists," Judy observed.

"Wouldn't  _ that  _ be convenient," snickered Gideon, a snicker which Bo couldn't help but share, despite his momentary resistance.

Ms. Clarabelle lowed with a happy sniff, pulling a lacy hanky from her pocket to dab at an eye, "To think, I'd live to see the day that foxes and rabbits could trust each other.  I'd thought I'd seen it all when you young folk worked together to whip up all that cream-  _ oops _ !" she sputtered, and clapped her hooves over her mouth in embarrassment, anxiously looking to Esther, and then to Judy, "Oh  _ no _ , I hope I didn't ruin the surprise…?"

"What happened with the whipped cream?" Esther asked.  Collectively, Nick, Judy, Gideon, and Bo nearly jumped from their respective furs.  To bring Esther in, much less Ms. Clarabelle, on the whole issue of Night Howler-poisoned whipped cream, a faceless antagonist field testing a new drug, and potential mass casualties would be too much to reveal in so short a time; especially with the likelihood that there might be other bunnies within earshot.  But could they lie, especially in the wake of Nick's grand exposition on trust?

"It was  _ me _ ," Bo blurted out, earning everyone's attention once again, guiltily tapping his index fingers together, "I was trying to show off but ate  _ way _ too much whipped cream at once and… barfed into the vat."

_ Bo, you brave, brilliant fool _ , Nick revered.

"Oh.  My. Gosh," Esther cringed, throwing her hands up, "That's  _ disgusting _ .  What is  _ wrong _ with you?  Two days before the TBR and you  _ ruin _ what Giddy worked so hard to make; all so you could 'show off'?"

"I'm  _ really _ sorry…"

"Now now, Cherries, don't be so hard on him," Nick excused, "Bangs and I egged him on, so we're as much to blame as he is."

"But it all turned out okay, Essy, because Bo took it upon himself to whip up enough cream for the  _ whole week _ in a single afternoon," Gideon said, catching the cue, "We helped, of course, and Ms. Clarabelle was kind enough to give us all the stuff we needed to make it work."

The vixen simmered.  And then asked of Judy, "Can you believe these…  _ adolescent alphas _ ?" who did her best to feign concurring incredulity and disgust, "We can't keep our eyes off them for a  _ second _ ."  She turned in a very motherly manner to Bo with clear indications of a continued lecture, but as the earthen-brown rabbit shrunk away, her phone cheerfully rang.  Eyes locked on Bo, she slipped from the counter and reached into her back pocket to check the caller, "This is important, but don't think I'm done yelling at you," she said, pointing directly to the large rabbit.  With a flick of her wrist and a sweep of her tail, she pointed a finger at each of her eyes, then turned on Nick and Gideon to gesture those fingers at the both of them; it was clear to her that they needed constant adult supervision.

Ms. Clarabelle watched the vixen storm off and answer the call, giving the other four a chance to breath easily.  Bo clutched his chest and braced his knee, Nick reaching over to clap his back and guide him over to the counter, while Judy scooted closer and rubbed behind his ears; Gideon gave a congratulatory thumbs-up.

"Her eyes change color," whimpered Bo, "I didn't know they  _ did  _ that!"

"We call it the 'Grey Eye'," the stouter fox whispered back, "both she and Pa's eyes go from blue to gray when they get  _ really _ mad.  Mine don't, though; no one's said if they do anyway."

"Oh good, she has a visible anger meter," Nick remarked, "I'll need to keep that in mind."

"What?  John!" came Esther's voice, "I used up all my allotted overtime this past week, remember? … It's still Sunday, I won't get any more until  _ tomorrow _ ! … Well, what happened to-? … Oh my goodness, is he okay? …  _ Yes _ , of course, I have my laptop with me … Okay, okay, but tonight  _ only _ , got it?  And this is double-time; not time-and-a-half, not 'time-and-three-quarters', but  _ double _ -time … I really don't see how you have a lot of choice in the matter, John … Of course, I'll have it all done before midnight, who do you think you're talking to?"  She smirked as she flicked off her phone, and sighed as she returned to the group.

"So…" Judy inferred warmly.

"So…" Esther implied coolly, "Something came up and I am busy tonight."

"How much of tonight?" the bunny asked.

"Depending on how quickly I can get my laptop encrypted, maybe  _ all _ of it," the vixen tucked her phone away and explained to the questioning looks, "I'll need remote access to the firm's servers, which means I'll need to encrypt my laptop.  I've done it before, it shouldn't take too long. I  _ would _ appreciate a ride back home, though?" she asked, looking up hopefully at Ms. Clarabelle.

"Oh, naturally, my strawberry shortcake," tittered the elderly cow, "It's the least I could do for blabbing.  I hope I haven't caused any trouble…"

"Not at all, Ms. Clarabelle," Esther said sweetly, and then turned on Bo, "It's  _ his _ mess to clean up, but I suppose if he already replaced the whipped cream, there's no more to say."

"Except for the vat, of course," the old cow remembered, "I was going to clean it out myself and return it tomorrow."

The vixen held Bo in place with that same, supremely sly look Nick witnessed the night before and then arched her eyebrows expectantly towards the rambling bovine.

"Ms. Clarabelle!" the larger rabbit said suddenly, putting on his most helpful smile, "Perhaps you'd… umm… give  _ me _ the chance to clean the vat?  Please?"

"Oh, Bo," she tittered, looking to the brown bunny endearingly, "That's so sweet of you but I couldn't ask that, you have  _ plenty  _ on your plate as it is."

"No no, I  _ insist _ ," he said with subtle prompting from Esther, "It's my 'mess to clean up', after all, so I should, ya'know, clean it up?"

"How thoughtful," the vixen chimed, relaxing into a comfortable smile, "I'm sorry to pull him away again, Sweet Tea, but he  _ does _ seem intent on it."

"Oh yeah," agreed Bo, nervously chuckling, "I wouldn't want someone else cleaning up my mess; I'm still a bunny, after all, and we're  _ very _ responsible."

"Bobo, c'mere," Judy beckoned, scooting closer to the edge of the counter so they could touch noses once again.

"C'mon,  _ Chuck _ , the train's leaving," Esther said in a patient, sing-song tone.

"I'll see you tonight, Juju!" he called as the vixen pulled him away by his collar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things that always made me wonder about the movie is what, exactly, changed Judy's parents' mind about Gideon Grey. First, I figured it had to be a substantial length of time and second, it had to be something big; you don't go from "Foxes are the worst" and "It's in their biology" about "Remember Gideon Grey?" to "He's our partner now!" without those two things (their opinion of him definitely changed on account of Judy). Looking at what I made with Preds' Corner, it became obvious that such a place would most certainly be viewed as a "nest of vipers" of sorts and a scene which came to mind is as follows: everyone is scared about the nearby predators and Judy's parents, despite their biases, realizes that "somebody has to do something or else everyone will get hurt"; well, they remember their paragon of a daughter saying on multiple occasions when such a quandary arose, "I'm somebody!" and promptly did the "something" to bring a resolution; this is where Bonnie came in. More to come on that in the next chapter.
> 
> "Horsecollar" references Horace Horsecollar and the young stallion we see here is his son, Junior. According to Disney canon, Horace is in a relationship with Clarabelle and the same holds true in this story; after the death of her first husband she met up with Horace after he separated from his wife and have stayed steady for some time, now. It was this relationship that Clarabelle banked on in getting herself and the others past the front gate; "Young Mr. Horsecollar" is her "First Middle Last Name" for Junior and "Ma'am" is his term of respect for her.
> 
> The eye-collar change is something I heard about (and said of me) and thought would be a fun element to add in this story.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing~!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some would call it most unwise  
> To let dangle one's loose ties,  
> Especially when baking pies,  
> But little do they realize  
> That it's easy to avert demise  
> By simp'ly accounting for size  
> And know exactly how it lies.

"She scares me sometimes," Judy admitted with a nervous giggle when the three of them were alone.

"Try  _ living _ with her," retorted Gideon.

"So  _ that _ 's what her schemes smell like," Nick observed.

"Not a deal breaker, I hope?" Gideon teased.

"More like a deal  _ maker _ ," Nick grinned, "A kickboxing defense attorney whose eyes turn silver when she's angry?  I want her on  _ my _ side."

"Vixens of the world cry out as  _ Nick Wilde _ chooses a mate," Judy said, holding out her paws as though reading a marquee.

"I can finally walk the streets without getting mugged by my numerous fan clubs," the taller fox mused, hopping up to sit and swivel on the booth's counter, landing to the portable hard floor on the other side, "Does that fridge have those tiny pies I heard about?"

"Breaking hearts and stuffing his face," scoffed a smirking Gideon, walking over to the cooling unit with a jingle of his keys to unlock it, "Is he  _ always  _ like this or only around me?"  He pulled out a plate of about a dozen, paw-sized pies and handed the whole thing to an eager Nick, "Here, these'll be bad by tomorrow."

"Did he break your heart too, Gideon?" asked Judy in feigned sympathy, swiveling around herself and patting the stouter fox's shoulder when he was close enough; the touch was so light, however, that it was as if she reached out to hold a bubble.

"He almost proposed last night after dinner, but the commute would've been too much for him," the baker pouted, reaching up to grasp the gesture of condolence.

"Aww, there-there…" she cooed to his sad nodding.

"I got a nice bucket of water right here you both can dunk your heads in," Nick said between mouthfuls of pie, tapping his foot to a metal vessel sitting beneath the mobile spigot.  "Additionally, Bangs, these things are out _ standing _ ," he reported, popping another into his mouth.

"You should try 'em warm," the stouter fox chuckled as he leaned back on the counter.

"There's always tomorrow's pie-eating contest," Judy suggested, comfortably leaning forward as she dangled her feet over the edge, "Your 'rival' is participating, you know."

" _ Very _ good point, Carrots, mayhaps I  _ will _ partake," Nick pondered, munching down another pie, "It'll mean skipping breakfast, though."

"You'll live," smirked Gideon.

" _ Mmh _ ," the taller fox grunted happily, licking his fingers clean and setting the empty plate atop the fridge.  "As we are currently down one strong back, for which I'll admit tangential blame, I shall volunteer my aid to the Hoppses for any further TBR business in Bo's place."

"Well," considered Judy, tapping her chin, "we have neither a surplus of baked goods nor a deficiency in snark, but we can find  _ some _ thing for you to do."

"Happy to serve," Nick grinned.

"I'll drive ya' over there," Gideon offered, "The organizing committee said I only needed to stay until I got everything ready for tomorrow, and I think that oven is as scrubbed as it's gonna get."

"I can't help but notice they didn't hook this spigot up to a sink," Nick pointed out.

"Last minute decisions," the baker shrugged, "What're you gonna do?"

"Rather curious, though, isn't it?  My experience with bunnies is they aren't so capricious with their planning," the taller fox observed with a tap of his foot, "Case in point: this fold-out floor doesn't say 'last minute'."  The jovial tone of his voice from the pies seemed to shift to a much more investigative demeanor, and it would also seem that Judy picked up on it.

" _ Why _ a yellow-striped tent, then?" Judy questioned, hopping down from the counter and gesturing to the temporary structure, "I'd bet dollars to donuts that  _ this  _ was pulled out of the Carrot Days Festival storage.  And did you see the neighboring booths? They have names in them, but that's it."  She walked over to one of the tent-walls and crawled beneath it, puff tail wiggling before she'd scoot back out, "There's  _ nothing _ over there."

Nick took it upon himself to inspect the other side, and confirmed the bunny's suspicion, "Everything starts  _ tomorrow _ , so why are these booths empty?"

"Yeah, you're right.  On top of that, why didn't  _ I  _ get a white booth, if they had extras?" Gideon asked.

"These probably aren't 'extras'," she realized, "they must be  _ dummies _ ."

"Dummies for  _ what _ , is the question," Nick wondered, counting off on his fingers, "Let's see; they could be a blind, a decoy, a cover, a buffer-"

"A 'buffer'?" Judy asked.

"No, not a buffer, not nearly enough room for that," Nick reconsidered, "Forget I said it."

"If only Bo hadn't left," Judy lamented, "he was  _ here _ when they set this tent up; he'd provide valuable insight."

"It does kinda stand out, doesn't it?" Gideon said with a rub to his neck, "I would've said 'look for the yellow-striped tent' instead of giving you the booth number, but I didn't even notice the stripes until I got here."

"Which sounds like it  _ was _ a last minute decision, because whoever gave you the booth number didn't know it was different," she said, "If they  _ did _ , they would've pointed you towards the 'yellow-striped tent'."

"Were they rushed at all?" asked Nick.

"They didn't  _ seem _ rushed.”

"How can something be a last minute decision, yet  _ not _ a last-minute decision?" the bunny speculated.

"Through misdirection," answered the taller fox, and began to pace, "Consider this: the vendor list for the TBR is both extensive and exclusive.  Long-time established, trusted resident Ms. Clarabelle tried  _ twice _ , but didn't make the cut; yet latecomer, infamous Gideon Grey  _ does _ ?"

"On top of that," she reasoned, picking up the pace, "My parents didn't know about it, and if  _ any _ one would know that Gideon was in the TBR,  _ they _ would.  In fact, since Grandpa Reggie is  _ on _ the board, one would think he'd be the first to tell the Hopps family farm.  Gideon, you didn't officially apply, correct?"

"No, you know that," the stouter fox answered, standing stationary, "As I said, Tad Wooler told me that I was gonna be part of the festivities about a month ago; shortly after that I got an email about registration, I signed some papers, and here we are."

"We'll get back to him," Nick said, and turned to Judy, "I believe he and Mr. Dent Wooler are both involved in this.  Before that, it's important to point out something as prominent as a  _ mismatched tent _ did not warrant a descriptor to the vendor upon assignment… because  _ he's _ not who it's intended for."

"This tent is distinguished for easy identification by someone  _ not _ involved in the TBR," Judy continued, "someone who wouldn't know or have access to the booth number."

"My thoughts exactly," agreed the taller fox, "And if anyone points out the odd color, it's easily chalked up to-"

"A last-minute decision," the baker said with a snap of his fingers.

"That means this tent is  _ targeted _ ," Judy warned.

"And I have a sneaky suspicion  _ why _ ," Nick said darkly, and once more began to pace, "Let's go back a year and X amount of months to the start of the Pred-Scare.  Tensions are high with fear from both prey  _ and _ predator alike; the city is a different society from out in the country, though, and when the latter has a nice little pocket called 'Preds Corner' it leads to jumpy mammals."

"That was a scary time," Gideon admitted, "Us preds were afraid that the preys would grab up their torches and pitchforks any day.  I don't know how your city-fox stories go, but I heard from others about stuff like that happening in the past; it wasn't pretty."

"We heard from Ms. Clarabelle about how my parents reached out to you for a business proposal," Judy mentioned with a momentary smile.

"Yeah, I still find it hard to believe, even today," he chuckled, wringing his paws a bit still, "It shocked all the neighbors when they heard about it.  Some thought it was a trap, others thought it was a chance to show that us preds can be trusted. I was  _ so _ nervous when I went to the fairgrounds the next day, and doubly nervous when they showed me where the bakery would be.  Felt like the entire street was staring daggers."

"Pause a minute," Nick calmly requested, "You went to the fairgrounds, not their farm?"

"They said it was 'neutral territory'."

"This sounds more like a peace treaty than a business proposition," Judy remarked, "How am I only  _ now _ hearing about this?"

"I have a theory," the taller fox began, ignoring the rabbit's smarmy eye-roll, "There were  _ two _ meetings, weren't there?  One public and one private."

"Yeah, there were," Gideon said, taken aback, "How'd you figure?"

"Carrots said it herself: it was a peace treaty," he smirked, "Paperwork and negotiations is part of a long, boring process; with the entire Burrow watching on the edge of their seats, it was only a matter of time until someone did something stupid.  So, you and the Hoppses probably met in secret beforehand to get all the nitty-gritty out of the way, and then at the fairgrounds sealed the deal for all to witness."

"I  _ see _ ," Judy said, "something like that relies on civility, which could waver if it became a frequent topic of conversation.  I'm the first to admit that bunnies 'go along to get along'; sheep and horses are similar in that respect. Now that I think about it, that's an  _ incredible _ turn-around on public opinion…"

"Herd mentality is a topic for another day," Nick interjected, "Conversation unpaused; what were we talking about?"

"Secret rabbit/fox meetings?" Gideon guessed.

"Before that."

"Yellow-striped tent?" Judy suggested.

"After that."

"Oh, I moved into the bakery up against the empty lot."

"Thank you, that's the one," Nick snapped his fingers, "As I recall, Tad and Dent Wooler's pawn shop are on that same street, are they not?"

"Dent wasn't there at the time," Gideon explained, "and Tad's always been nice to me.  I mean, sure, he was kinda distant at  _ first _ , but he came around after he tasted my wheatgrass squares."

"Well, your exquisite baking skills notwithstanding, Bangs, I suspect that those two rams, or someone they represent, wants  _ you _ in this tent come tomorrow."

"Is this because my parents are in business with him?" Judy asked with notable concern.

"That's one reason," the taller fox replied, turning to his cousin once again, "You said that Tad Wooler picks up the boulders Judy and Bo dig out; has he ever seen you at the Hopps farm?"

"Well, yeah, Bonnie and I waved at him from the kitchen window one time," Gideon began, gradually trailing off and taking a step back to brace the counter, "You don't suppose he's trying to get  _ rid _ of me, do you?"

"We cannot confirm it, and we should not take any steps towards that theory without concrete evidence," Nick determined, "He's innocent until proven guilty, after all, and we're only off-duty cops playing detective."

"You're right," Judy also determined, "I guess that brings us back to square one:  _ some _ one wants to test a new strain of Nighthowler pollen on a bunch of bunnies and pin the blame on Gideon, but we can't do anything about it without drawing suspicion.  It's too bad we don't have any more of that poisoned whipped cream; we're not against the clock anymore, so we could open up an official investigation with Sheriff Longmare."

The foxes exchanged sly grins.  "Actually," Nick countered, "I'd say we're at square  _ two _ ."

"I have some of the whipped cream back home in my fridge," Gideon explained, "It's how Nick found out about it in the first place."

"Well well," beamed the rabbit, "Looks like our 'lucky fox' strikes again."

"A 'lucky fox' now, are we?" smirked the baker.

" _ I _ am," Nick smirked back, "and it's that luck I'm banking on during the pie-eating contest tomorrow.  Judy's right, this tent is targeted, but we don't know why or how, and or even if its purpose was already fulfilled.  The one thought that came to mind was that the oven was rigged to explode-"

Gideon's ears and eyes drained of life as he bit back a shrill, instantaneous yelp.  The stouter fox took a deep breath after clearing his throat at the shocked faces, stuttering his explanation, "I-I-I'm sorry, I guess a civilian like m-m-myself isn't used to your c-c-cop stuff.  I had my head in there all day, ya'know, b-b-but go on; I was just a bit spooked, is all," and ended with an unsettled chuckle.

"So  _ that _ 's why you said 'buffer'," Judy recalled after a moment.

"And  _ that _ 's why I said to 'forget I said it'," reminded Nick, "An explosion of something that size would cause more casualties than poisoned whipped cream and would draw unwanted attention."

"Are you okay, Gideon?" she asked as the baker helped himself to a chair.

"Yeah, I'll be okay," he said with a slow huff, "Stretch, reach up and undo those flaps, please? We should close up for now."

"You got it, Bangs," Nick said, tugging at the rolled-up tent-fabric so it could fall over the opening and the counter.  After a thought, he tugged at the outdoor-strength zipper flap to further 'secure' the booth.

"I could drive if you want," Judy offered, patting a still trembling paw of the stouter fox.

"Gimme a minute, I'll be right as rain," he said after some slow breaths, emitting another forced chuckle, "Still reeling a bit, I guess; prob'ly a good thing I'm a baker and not a cop, huh, all dough and no steel."

"Oh, c'mere," she insisted, rising up on tiptoes to hug around his neck, "You kept Bunnyburrow safe for predator and prey alike during the Pred-Scare; I'd say you've got  _ plenty _ of steel."

“I know a certain cow that'd be moved to tears by this,” Nick endeared under his breath, leaning on the counter as Gideon returned the embrace, even lifting her up a bit for a tighter hug.  His smirk faded as he heard the telltale sounds of sifting fur, and with Judy practically hugging his skull…

"Gideon…" she wavered, paws dragging along his head as Nick's did the night before, coming around to feel at his quivering cheeks, "Why do you have muzzle scars?"

Gideon could only whimper with wide eyes and contracted pupils, looking on the verge of tears yet unable to cry, his words strained at first but built faster and heavier, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…!"

"Hey guys, come on, don't do this!" Nick attempted with variance but identical results.

"No, no no no no no," muttered Judy, stepping back from the stouter fox as he fell off the chair and onto his knees with whining apologies, "The scars aren't fresh they're too old, but they're too deep because they cut into you," she rattled on, each word choking her, "Healed over and faded but stretched it happened five years ago, no, ten, no!  Oh, Gideon!" Judy  _ did  _ burst into tears, "They put you in a muzzle because of  _ me _ !"

They both wailed, caught in an abyssal recursion of tormented apologies.  Gideon cut through his shirts with clenching claws to yank them off. Judy clutched her ears and bobbed harshly in a kneeling position.

But what of Nick?  Being the only occupant of the booth still in his senses, he did the single sensible thing he could think of: he emptied the nearby bucket of water onto them both.  In the enclosed area, the wild arch of cold spigot water cascaded and whipped across the tent's walls and temporary fixtures. For his effort, wailing quieted to soft, confused whimpers.

"There, now it's out of your system!" he yelled, earning both of their attention, pointing first at Judy, "You have some 'failed heroine disorder' or whatever, shouldering the weight of the world but then you condemn yourself if your selflessness has unintended consequences!"  He then pointed to Gideon, "And you were cruelly bullied, which turned  _ you _ into a cruel bully, which got you 'predator therapy' as a  _ kit _ for three.  Solid. Weeks!"  Still yelling, he shoved the bucket onto his head, causing what water remained to splash down onto him, "There, now we're all wet and emotionally distraught!  I hope you're  _ happy _ !"  He crossed his arms and sat heavily into a puddle on the floor.

Silence followed, broken only by shallow breathing and gentle dripping.   _ I really hoped that worked because I'm not sure what I'm going to do if they go back to crying, _ mulled Nick, tapping his finger on his arm and awaiting their response.  He couldn't see them, but he thought he could hear soft coughing that turned into snickering, and then into chuckling, which turned into freeing laughter, mainly on the part of Gideon.  He saw the lid of the bucket rising with Judy's bright, purple, puffy eyes smirking up at him.

"Dumb fox," she said.

Before too long, they sat outside at the back of the tent with Nick on the upturned bucket and the other two in the soft grass before him.  He remained quiet, paws folded and thumbs tapping together; Gideon and Judy quietly waited for him to speak, he trying to keep his tattered shirts on, and she only in her tank top and pants.

"We'll do this one at a time," Nick began, "Judy, you have an amazing sense of justice, but when you sparked the Pred-Scare -- and yes, it was  _ you _ \-- you couldn't handle the knowledge that following your heart led to so much pain and misery.  Eventually, back on the farm, you fell into a deep, dark depression of doubt and self-loathing. This continued for a time, wherein you didn't notice anything around you, not even the newest young male additions to the Hopps household: Gideon and Bo.  At some point, you got it in your head that offing yourself was the best course of action, and since I know you read police and coroner reports as if they were magazine articles, you knew  _ exactly _ where and how to cut for the quickest, cleanest end.

"Over a long series of nights, you approached the point-of-no-return but I sincerely believe you'd never cross it; however, Bo, who according to Stu is a hard-working farmhand putting in long days, likely saw you one night standing over the kitchen sink with the knife.  What else is your school-days crush to think? He breaks you from your depressed fugue state so that all those bunny-emotions you bottled up so well burst like an overripe melon. You love him, Carrots, and he loves you. I love you, too, but I realize that it's not in the same way as him, and I'm okay with that.  I wish you both a long, happy life with a thousand little bunnies."

"I have a rebuttal," Judy said with a quirked brow.

"Save it for after, because this is a big one," he said, and turned to an anxious fox, "Gideon, there's no easy way to say this, but you went through 'predator therapy', which is a politically correct way of saying 'death by torture', reserved for murderers and the criminally insane who cannot ‘rise above their base instincts’, but somehow you survived  _ three weeks _ of it.  I wouldn't believe it for a second, but the muzzle scars on your head and the countless scars on your body say otherwise.  'Predator therapy' was abolished twelve years ago after a horrific scandal involving unsolved missing mammal cases; it's easy enough to read up on, so I'll leave it at that.  You still claw yourself in your sleep because you're haunted by those three weeks, and I noticed certain trigger words and phrases which put you into a state of shock. Unfortunately, there isn't anything I can do about  _ that _ .

"What I  _ can _ do is assure you that none of the scars are visible," he slid off the bucket to kneel and so grip Gideon's trembling shoulder, looking directly into his eyes, remembering something his cousin said in that moment of weakness, "and you don't need to apologize for being a fox.  I swear it upon our shared middle name of 'Piberius'."

"Stretch…" was all Gideon managed before falling forward, forgetting the shreds of his shirt to grab hold of Nick and sob.  The taller fox comforted as best he could, but the 'snuggler' was out in full force and pinning his arms to his sides; he expressed a dire need for help from Judy, but she cashed in her rebuttal to join the embrace.

* * *

"And then our intrepid do-gooders filed their report for suspicious activity to the local authorities, the villains responsible were apprehended, and Gideon and Judy overcame their self-destructive tendencies, thus strengthening their friendship to lead long healthy lives.  The end."

_ Shut it, Dawson, _ replied Nick,  _ Your credibility is questionable because you're standing in the glove compartment.  At least  _ try  _ to pretend you're not a hallucination.   _ He glared behind his sunglasses, arm out the window and waving up-and-down with the passing wind.  Gideon, likewise, hooked his elbow out the driver-side window and savored the warm breeze whisking through the van drying off the trio.  Judy sat in the center, arms up and behind her head, one leg crossed over the other dangling off the edge of the seat. It was a serene drive out of Horseshire, each recuperating from the recent explosions of emotion.

"Aren't you curious about what happened in the grotto?" the imaginary fox poised.

_ Not in the slightest _ .

" _ Sure _ ya' are," he crooned, "C'mon, I went through a  _ lot _ of trouble to get Esther into your mother's dress, and doughboy over here wasn't an easy fit, lemme tell ya'."

_ As if stands, I'm feeling pretty good right now; except for your persistence, of course.  Even the ambient Nighthowler pollen of these fields doesn't bother me, _ Nick pondered, looking out at the wide, grassy plains, and then cradled his chin with one finger, the other tapping at his knee.

"Ah ha!" Dawson gasped, " _ There _ go the gears!"  And was gone.

"Hey Bangs," Nick began, looking to the driver, who grunted with a curious, simple smile, "Esther said that the forest between your bakery and Preds Corner didn't have the pollen in it like the farmlands do," he paused and looked to both him and Judy, the latter removing her sunglasses, "Quick summary: on the way to the TBR from Preds Corner, I was thrown from the back of the truck and into a grotto underneath the trees."

"Okay, I think I know the place you're talking about," Gideon said casually, "What of it?"

"After a graceful face-plant I got a nasty sinus headache, but I also started hallucinating."

"As though you were exposed to concentrated  _ midnicampum holicithias _ ?" Judy asked.

" _ Yes _ , but not quite," Nick continued, removing his sunglasses to chew on one of the arms, "My experience with these hallucinations is that they're distracting and obnoxious, but in the  _ grotto _ , they were almost clarifying."

"Maybe you fell onto some weird mushrooms?" Gideon suggested with a shrug.

"Mushrooms would make sense, but I'll get back to that.  Esther and I cut through the forest at a narrow part earlier today, and I got a sinus headache  _ then _ , too; she soothed the pain with that song Ruth sang to you and her when you were kits," the taller fox explained.

"Really?  I thought that only worked for fox-flu?" the stouter fox questioned.

"You sang the song to yourself in the grotto, didn't you?" Judy asked.

"I  _ did _ , and it  _ helped _ ."

"That's  _ not _ mushrooms," she worried.

"My thoughts exactly; it had to be some other environmental factor, but Esther already nixed one of the two I know about," Nick went on, "I'll admit, I discounted the idea of ironroots before this weekend; I always figured the foxes of the Knottedwood were supremely clever saboteurs, which appeals to me more than magical trees.  How _ ever _ , I am a mammal of science, so I do  _ not _ discount an inexplicably malfunctioning cell phone as coincidence."

"Heck,  _ I _ could've told you that," chuckled Gideon, a whimsical laugh much smoother than his earlier vocalizations, "I go for walks in those woods all the time and the ironroot trees are  _ definitely _ a real thing.  I didn't think they'd be so near my bakery, though."

"I suppose it's too much to suggest that some of those Knottedwood foxes were nearby with signal jammers?" the bunny challenged.

"It still wouldn't explain why my head hurt as badly as it did, especially without any physical signs of damage or trauma," he replied, "Unless I had a chip in my brain.  Possible, but not likely; I can't remember the last time I woke up in a bathtub filled with ice."

"’Ironroot trees can cause headaches’," Judy sighed, returning her sunglasses onto her face, "Add that to this weekend's theme of 'unsolved mysteries'."

"I was hoping our resident farm-fox might shine some light on the subject."

"Don't look at me," Gideon said, "I'm as in the dark as you are."

"'In the dark'…" Nick pondered anew, "Bangs, do you ever  _ imagine _ how you might do something?"

"All the time," he answered with a forming grin, "especially when I'm baking.  It helps to imagine  _ how _ it'll smell, look, taste when it's done, or even how it'll feel and sound when you bite into it."

" _ Every _ one does that, Slick," Judy said, "Sometimes you need to take a step back and reevaluate what you're working on.   _ Visualize _ it, test your theory, and learn from your previous mistakes."

"Almost, Carrots, but I mean  _ before _ you do something," the taller fox corrected, "Back in the stone age, when I was still a hustler, I could imagine what my mark would say with such accuracy, it felt like  _ I _ already had the conversation by the time they started talking."

"Except for me, of course," she smirked.

"What can I say, you're an exceptional bunny," he grinned.

"Wait, you're not talking about that thing Mr. Foxglove does in the new episodes, are you?" the baker recused.

" _ That _ is blatant precognition masquerading as acute awareness.  Loads of fun, don't get me wrong, but  _ no _ logical backing, and sometimes it feels more like he jumps through a plot hole than actually solves a problem," Nick criticized.

"They did it much better in the older episodes," Gideon commented.

"No argument here."

"Is that how you climbed out of the grotto so quickly?" Judy said, steering the conversation back on course.  "Esther was already on her phone to the emergency hotline, you know, but then you said not to call anyone."

"That was nothing new; in the dim light of the grotto, I could visualize the path up the roots much easier," Nick extrapolated, "I shall have to thank her for thinking of me, though.  In any case, I was simply wondering if there was any Bunnyburrow lore about the ironroots, and figured you two were my best bet in finding out."

"I was always told not to go near the woods," Judy recalled, "It was a 'dark place' filled with predators lurking behind every root and branch; foxes featured prominently."

"Naturally.”

"As for Knottedwood -- which we bunnies know as 'Bloodwood' because of the red color and it sounds spooky -- there were campfire stories about its 'witches'; flying through the air like birds, striking down the unlucky with a flick of their wrist, a deathly whistle, and a flash of light," she shrugged and smiled, "I dressed up as a Bloodwood Witch for an All Hallows' Eve party once.   _ Once _ ."

"Didn't go over too well, I take it?" Gideon guessed.

"I wore a little reflector on my wrist to get the flick-and-flash," she demonstrated with a gesture, "I even got a whistle for effect, but a lot of the parents weren't too happy about it."

" _ How _ old were you?" Nick asked.

"Twelve-ish?"

"Twelve-ish."

"I had my rebellious age, same as everyone else," Judy boasted, "Besides, Esther was off at ZU getting her law degree, so I didn't have anyone to-"  She stopped short, and looked at Gideon.

He recognized the silence and looked over, but smiled, "It's okay.  I know I was a little shut-in back then, still working through the, umm…" he gulped, and pointed to his back, "Ya'know,  _ that _ ."

"Good job, Bangs," Nick smiled, gesturing with his sunglasses, "You referenced it without seizing up, which considering you're behind the wheel of a moving vehicle, I'm  _ especially _ glad for."

"Well, I gotta keep it  _ behind _ me, don't I?" he said with another hearty chuckle.

"And you used it in a pun," beamed Judy, "Esther won't believe it when she finds out."

"Too bad our phones ain't workin', 'eh  _ Nick _ ?"

"Unless your phones are prehistoric, they're  HippoTech ; dry them, charge them, and they'll work fine," he then turned to the bunny, "My phone's workin' fine, though, 'eh  _ Judy _ ?"

" _ Yes _ , we all know you have a waterproof phone case, Nick," she sighed, " _ Sheesh _ , you get flushed down one toilet…"

"In all seriousness," Gideon said solemnly, even though some words were choked, "This is something I need to tell her face-to-face, as soon as I see her again.  And Pa and Ma, as soon as I see them later this week." Judy touched his arm and he took a deep breath, "I'm good."

"Good," she smiled, and then turned to Nick, "Actually, I'll need your toilet-proof phone to call my parents and let them know about my… change of plans.  They're  _ not _ going to be too happy about it, but-"

"Things happen," Nick finished, pulling out his mobile device to hand it over.

"Thanks," she sighed but managed a sad smile as she dialed in her house number.  Sitting upright and tense, she waited through the ringing on the other end, "I'm not in much of a mood for face-to-face right now," she explained quickly, exchanged a nod with her partner, and then put the phone back to her ear, "Hi Mom!  It's me, Judy. Listen, I'm really sorry that I wasn't there the past few days… What? … You're sure? … But, I mean, I promised I  _ would _ , so I should head over there and… Oh, okay, if you think it's for the best? … Yes, I love you, too," and clicked off the phone.

"That's the look of a bunny unsure if it went well or not," Nick stoically observed while accepting the return of his cell.

"There were a  _ lot _ of things Bo and I were supposed to do for the TBR but according to Mom, enough of the extended family pitched in and got it all finished.  She said it was more important to spend time with  _ you _ ," Judy explained, looking up to the taller fox.

"I'm sure she included Gideon, Bo, and Esther in a generic sense," Nick smirked.

"She'd still like us to come over for dinner, though," Judy said, and then looking down at her still damp casual attire, "I wouldn't mind a change of clothes, honestly."

"Oh yes, that reminds me," the taller fox said, "Bangs, I'll need to borrow some clothes.  I joined Esther in a trek over to the Grey homestead today, so my suitcase is over there."

"You and she both," scoffed the stouter fox, but grinning, "I ain't a boutique, you know, but we'll see if we can't find anything to fit that beanpole you call a body."

The sun sagged over the horizon as they parked beside Gideon's bakery, piling out to an empty lot and an early evening haze.  "Keep the window open; give it a chance to air out," the stouter fox instructed his cousin.

"I don't think I've ever been up to your apartment before," Judy realized, shifting her weight to one foot and looking towards the stairs.

"You're not missing much, jus' a humble little nook to tuck myself away in."

"I give it a solid three-out-of-four stars," Nick critiqued, "Sleeping accommodations: needs improvement.  Facilities: manageable. Location: quaint. Food: unparalleled, the shining point of the whole establishment.  Conclusion: would visit again for a good meal."

"We're havin' dinner at the Hoppses, Stretch, it'd be rude to eat beforehand," Gideon chided, unlocking the door after they climbed the wooden steps.  "Bathroom's through that first door, Jude, you can have it first."

"Thanks, Gid," she said, squinting into the dim before the lights flashed on, and then blinked out, even to a few clicking re-attempts of the switch, "Don't worry about it, I think I can manage.  I'll try not to take  _ too _ long, but I'd like to dry out my clothes before putting them back on."

"No rush," the stouter fox smiled as she went through and closed the bathroom door, followed soon by the adjoining bedroom door.  He harrumphed at the burned out light and then looked down at his torn shirt, pulling it up and off to examine it, "I  _ really _ did a number on this, didn't I?"

"You should be thankful that you didn't cut  _ yourself _ in the process," Nick observed, closing and locking the front door, but then smirking, "Yesterday seems like such a long time ago, doesn't it?"

"How d'you mean?" Gideon asked, folding the shirt over and walking to his bedroom.

"Not twenty-four hours ago, I practically had to pry that shirt off your back," he explained, following the stouter fox and, once more, closing the door behind him.  The fur dryer hummed from the other passageway, so Nick eased with frank speech, "And  _ now _ , you're not so high-strung about it."

"I held onto all that stuff for sixteen years, Stretch," he introspected, setting the torn shirt on his bed and turning around, "but… it seems kind of silly to be uncomfortable around  _ you _ , all things considered."  He grinned and walked over to his closet to take a look inside, scratching at his stomach.

"There are other fabrics than denim and flannel, Bangs," Nick remarked, peeking over the stouter fox's shoulder, "I'll get you the name of my tailor because you're in  _ desperate _ need for a wardrobe upgrade."

"Hey, I got what suits me," he huffed, "It's not like others borrow my clothes on a regular basis, ya'know."

"Do you at least have a tie?"

" _ Yes _ ," Gideon asserted and pulled out a single necktie.

"This has a mustard stain on it," the taller fox pointed out.

"A  _ little _ one," he said, trying to rub it out with his thumb, and then continued haughtily, "And it's not 'mustard'; it's a turmeric-and-garlic sauce of my  _ own _ invention."

"In the habit of inventing sauces, are you?" and arched a curious brow.

"What, like  _ you _ 've never experimented before?"

"You know, you make a valid point.  Maybe I'll try and switch up my own wardrobe a bit before I criticize someone else's.  Move over," Nick said with a quick hipcheck, and reached in to pick out some colors he could work with; the son of a tailor knew a thing or two about clothes, after all.

"'Imagining' something up, Stretch?" Gideon asked, his arms patiently crossed.

"Hmm, maybe?" he mused, pulling out a primarily green shirt with black-and-blue crosshatching, and a pair of black jeans, "Your build is a bit-" he cleared his throat.

"'Fat'?"

"I was going to say 'full-bodied'," Nick insisted, "Either way, I'm swimming in this thing.  What do you have in the way of undergarments?"

"White cotton, but I think borrowing my undies might be a bit  _ weird _ ," Gideon said, pointing at his dresser before walking to it, and pulling out an unopened plastic packaging from the top drawer, "Here we go; I been meaning to return these because they're a size too small, but I never got around to it."

"Let's hear it for the 'lucky fox'," Nick boasted and then grimaced as he examined the unopened package of white boxer-briefs, immediately recalling when his father provided him clothing the Friday before.   _ He got me; somehow that old tod got me after two days, two-hundred-plus miles, and through an estranged relation _ , and then he looked at Gideon with the same grimace.

"Something wrong, Stretch?"

" _ Technically _ , no," he answered distantly, "These clothes I'm wearing right now came from my Dad's shop, and it occurs to me that he, too, offered new underwear.  More likely out of jest if anything, but  _ still _ ."

"That's… one heck of a coincidence," Gideon said, quirked a brow, "And you as a 'mammal of science' don't like that it's a coincidence, is that it?"

"It goes deeper than that, Bangs," the taller fox hesitated, holding the package in both paws and drumming his fingers, "When I was in the grotto, I hallucinated Esther in my Mom's dress, also from this past Friday, but I think I did that to remind myself of a lullaby she -- my Mom -- sang when I was a kit; which was also the same song she -- Esther -- sang to me to soothe my headache today."

"It's a fox lullaby and our moms are sisters, so that's easy enough to figure out," he shrugged.

"Gideon… there's something I haven't told you, yet," Nick breathed deeply, "I've been affected by mild hallucinations ever since Friday night.  When I first ate the whipped cream, I hallucinated an entire conversation between the two of us before you resuscitated me. After that, they've been waking dreams with a you that wasn't  _ you _ featured prominently, except he only  _ looked _ like you, but he acted like  _ me _ ."

Gideon was dumbstruck, blinked, and leaned on his dresser with a patient frown, "Okay, I'll bite.  Who's 'he'?"

_ I hoped to avoid this, but here goes, _ Nick dreaded, and took another high, deep breath, "I call him 'Dawson', and he pops up like an Internet ad without a 'close' button.  I figured it was the ambient Night Howler pollen that the hallucinations kept reacting to because I saw him when we ate waffles, at the Hopps Farm, in the van on the way here-"

"Stretch, why are you telling me all this, and why  _ now _ ?"

"Because," he fretted, stepping closer with a low voice, "I thought I could either explain it or ignore it, but I  _ can't _ , and that scares me more than anything.  Not dangling over certain death, not being chased by a sports car with fangs, not even the threat of being stampeded by a thousand bunnies scares me more than uncertainty in my own sanity.  If I can't figure my way out of something, I'm as good as  _ dead _ .

"When I was in the grotto, I also imagined  _ you _ in my Dad's tailor outfit," Nick sighed, fingers to the bridge of his nose, "As nuts as it sounds, it occurs to me that maybe it was some kind of 'premonition' -- for lack of a better word -- that you would mimic my Dad's actions from back on Friday; except  _ you  _ actually gave me a package of clean underwear."

"You're worried you might be able to see the future?" Gideon asked incredulously, " _ That _ 's what you're so scared of?"

"I'm scared that I was exposed to something in that grotto, and I don't know what it is!" he tried not to yell, glancing over his shoulder at the bathroom door and the still humming fur dryer.  "That's why I asked about the ironroots, that maybe they were known to have… I don't know, some kind of  _ moss _ with effects similar to Night Howler-!"

Gideon's paws clapped around Nick's mouth, pulling him in and looking him dead in the eye, "That's a whole lotta crazy, Stretch, but you know what you're doing right now?  Waving around your undies, looking like you crawled out of a sewer pipe, and raving about how trees showed you the future. So how about you get dressed and I'll make you a sandwich to calm you down; deal?"

_ A sandwich would do me wonders right now _ , he considered, and nodded with an affirming grunt.  Gideon smiled, releasing the face to pat its cheek, and grabbed any old shirt from his closet on the way out.  Nick sighed, opening up the plastic package when his cousin closed the door again and exchanged his damp city-fox clothes for the roomy farm-fox attire.  With the freed hangers, he set his tailored shirt, tie, and slacks up to dry, and then folded his boxers on the edge of the hamper. The belt needed some cinching, and even then the pants were a bit lower on his hips than he'd like, but it compensated for his long legs well enough.  The shirt showed some stomach when he lifted his arms, and yet it otherwise felt like a billowing robe; he wondered if it were possible to pin the excess back until he could return to his suitcase to dig out something proper.

Nick rolled up his sleeves as he exited the bedroom, spotting Gideon in the kitchen cutting a hoagie sandwich on its plate to set at the table with some potato chips; a cup of hot tea sat adjacent.  Looking up, the stouter fox smiled and approached, "There, now stop bein' crazy," he teased, punching the taller fox's shoulder on his way back into the bedroom to change pants. Rubbing his arm, Nick sat down and pulled the sandwich closer, giving it a sniff and a grin before munching.

Between the two halves, he sipped at the tea and blinked as the kitchen light went on, "Heya, Nick," Judy said calmly, walking over to a chair and hopping up to steal a chip, "Whatcha got there?"

"Honey-glazed turkey, lettuce, tomato, some kind of mustard, and a type of cheese I'm not familiar with," he described, inspecting under the bread, "All on a fluffy loaf of white."

"Sounds good," she said calmly, "except for the turkey bit, I mean."

"I'm willing to suspend my diet for the sake of family."

"Listen, umm…" she drummed her fingers on the tabletop, "It wasn't my intention to eavesdrop, you know I respect your privacy, but even through the fur dryer, I heard everything you said to Gideon."

Nick looked to her and paused chewing for only a moment, but then resumed as though unphased, "One of these days, I  _ will  _ get a conversation past you," he said, smirking around his bite of food.

"Nick, this is  _ serious _ ," Judy continued, "I thought you were being your usual, facetious self back in the van but if you're under the effects of a mind-altering drug, I can't simply brush it aside like when we raid a Howler den;  _ those _ are gone in the hour, but  _ this _ is going on two days."

"You know," he said after another sip of tea, "Yesterday morning, after you and I talked outside the front of your house, 'Dawson' sauntered up right behind Bo, bold as brass.  He even tried acting as if he  _ were _ Gideon."  He stopped again when Judy's ear went up and looked around his shoulder to the real farm-fox walking up in a fresh pair of jeans, "Yes, him, right there."

"What about 'me, right here'?" he asked.

"Carrots heard us chatting," Nick reported, and pivoted in his seat with another bite.

"Oh,  _ uhh… _ " the stouter fox wavered, fingers twiddling, "How much did she… did  _ you _ hear, Jude?"

"I heard that Nick's had hallucinations since  _ Friday _ , and yet hasn't  _ told _ anyone."

"And until  _ now _ , there've been no indications of such, has there?"

"Nick, that's not the  _ point _ -" Judy asserted.

"I disagree," he interrupted, and finished off the sandwich, "I feel worlds better, Bangs, thank you," the taller fox grinned.  Nick turned back to his partner and picked up his tea, "My behavior in the past forty-eight hours has not differed since the year and then some that you've known me; ergo, these 'hallucinations' are  _ not _ hindering my performance.  If anything, I realize now that speaking with myself has proven most beneficial; why, it was during one of those brainstorming sessions that I realized that not  _ only _ was the whipped cream filled with Night Howler pollen but that it was meant as a field test-"

Judy's ears sprung straight up.  "Someone pulled into the lot."

"Carrots, you're being rude-"

"Shh!" she hushed, sliding from her seat, "Bo's here but he's with  _ Grav _ ?"

"Grav  _ Hopps _ ?" asked Gideon with understandable incredulity, his prior anguish transformed into what the locals would surely describe as “a right, riled state”.

"I think they're arguing, and Grav's not alone," Judy continued, ears forward as she strode to the door with the foxes in tow.  Next came a stomach-churning 'thump' after a severe engine rev and squeal of brakes that all three heard quite plainly. "No!" she cried and bounded the remaining distance to the door.

"Nick: gun!" Gideon directed, holding out his palm as Nick nimbly vaulted to the couch, reaching for and pulling out the Wincheetah.  "Judy: door," he continued in a lower, determined tone, and marched out onto the balcony after she deftly turned the deadbolt and pulled the knob.  Headlights of a sports car bathing the group of rabbits huddling around a limp pile; any commotion in the lot stopped as Gideon introduced himself with a poignant cocking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dangling over certain death", etc., references part in the movie both when Judy and Nick were held over the icy pit with Mr. Big, and when Judy and Nick were chased through the Rainforest District by Mr. Manchas (a jaguar).
> 
> Calling back to an earlier chapter, Gideon comments that he has a weird middle name, same as Nick; little did he know that his middle is the same as Nick's. I wanted to include this as a bit of literary filigree to connect them with certitude.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firearms manufactured by and for smaller mammal species are flippantly referred to as "poppers" by larger mammals, their effectiveness characterized as confetti-distributing noise-makers; it is worth noting that a rhino once fended off a gang of taser-wielding chinchillas with a party-popper purchased from a pachyderm store. By-and-large, shock pistols and tranq rifles were favored for standardization due to the ability of the long, sharp applicators to slip through any kinks of the armor-like hide of larger mammals, as well as the equal effectiveness of disabling non-mammalian predators (birds-of-prey, large reptiles, etc.). For the sake of argument, shotguns and rifles are still cause for concern amongst smaller mammals and the firearms of larger mammals are often grouped in with dynamite, heavy construction machinery, and military artillery (refer to the historical accounts of the "Cave Bear Cannoneers").

Judy and Nick quickly followed the gun-toting farm-fox, standing astride him while cast in the goldenrod rays of an ending day.  There was Grav, leaning on the upright vat from Gideon's bakery and facing the apartment; he wore a heavier, darker jacket than earlier.

"Well,  _ hey _ there Gunky," he greeted, his voice smooth as silk but venomous, "Didn't know this was  _ your _ place.  How ya' been?"

"My 'place', Grav, includes that lot you're in," Gideon pointed out, walking the steps until he was halfway down the stairs, "So you'd best be skedaddlin' or I'm gonna have some  _ very _ loud things to say to you."

"Judy," Grav said in a sickening flowery tone, looking up at the gray rabbit with his arms outstretched and an overly polite smile, "Your fox is mighty discourteous.  I thought you kept better company than  _ that _ ."

Gideon clicked the safety off.

"Grav," Judy said sternly, walking down and past Gideon with a touch to his elbow, "where's Bo?"

The butterscotch rabbit looked back and snapped his fingers, shoo-ing with a flick of his wrist as the other rabbits stepped away; there on the ground was the unmistakable bulk of Bo Briar.  "The clumsy guy  _ tripped _ ," Grav snickered, and then knocked on the vat, "sent this rolling quite a ways, too.  Ms. Clarabelle entrusted us to get him here and we offered to help him carry it, but Branches here  _ insisted _ he do it all by his lonesome.  He's a tough one, your Bo, sure takes a  _ lot _ to get him down."

Gideon's finger moved from the trigger guard to the trigger, a low growl on his curled lips as he made to address Grav with the business end, immediately stopping as Judy pivoted to brace his arm and the barrel.  Bright purple eyes stared intently as she mouthed a quiet 'No'. He glanced up, and realized why she stopped him: Grav, along with two or three others, were reaching into their jackets in a  _ very _ distinct manner.  Up at the top of the steps, Nick's footfall scampered into the apartment.

"Your foxes  _ can _ learn; that deserves recognition," the butterscotch bunny observed, removing his grip from what he had stashed in the back of his pants, and signaled the others to do the same.  He stood, paws in his pockets, and smiled smugly, "Your taste in  _ bunnies _ , though," he grunted and shrugged, "could use some improvement.  Hanging off this  _ half-hare _ as you do?  It's  _ unsightly _ ."

Judy's ears flicked towards the apartment, and her stance relaxed in subtle ways that only Gideon, due to his proximity and night vision, could notice; she glimpsed to the farm-fox and patted his forearm.  In a single turn on her heel, her countenance changed completely; she approached Grav with her paws on her waist and a look of patient expectancy, each deliberate step putting a little more sway to her hips.  "And I suppose  _ you _ would be a bit more…  _ sightly _ ?" she dared, standing only a few feet away with her weight on one leg.

"Practice some discretion, Ms. Hopps," he replied coyly, tilting his head to study her from the corner of his eye and offering a smirk, "You've made it abundantly clear your intentions aren't for  _ me _ .  No, you prefer someone with a bit more…" he pulled his paws out to gesture at a large physique, " _ aberration _ .  Still, I pride myself as a gentlerabbit and would be privileged to introduce you to a brother of mine.  Respectable sort, very  _ strong _ ."

She shifted her weight to the other foot, and so stepped closer, "Would I favor a  _ strong _ bunny?  I certainly would, Grav, but…" and took another step forward, once more shifting weight from one foot to the other, speaking in a lower yet lighter tone, "strength is measured in  _ more  _ than muscle.  You've demonstrated  _ that _ , haven't you?"

"My blushes," he cooed sardonically, and stepped close enough that they could touch fingertips if they reached, "but  _ do  _ be reasonable, Judy, I know you want Bo."

" _ I _ want Bo safe and sound," she retorted, and challenged him by stepping closer with one last pronounced sway of her hips, "What do  _ you _ want?"

The waning sunlight bathed a rich, golden glow on his butterscotch face, but as it dipped under the horizon the harsh headlights behind him cast his smile in a ghastly shadow to exaggerate its corners.  It darkened the hatred in his eyes and reddened the anger in his ears. "I want  _ you _ , Judy, that's all I ever wanted, but that's not part of  _ this _ negotiation," his voice rose a bit louder, eyes locked on the gray bunny, "I want Chunky Gunky over there to empty the shotgun; be sure  _ it  _ gets some distance with the shells."

She looked over her shoulder and nodded to Gideon.  He hesitated in doubt and anger, eyes flicking about, but he angled the gun so that when he cocked it until empty, each shell ejected over the railing.  With a flick of his ear, the stout fox set the gun on the step behind him to lean it on the rail, taking great care not to move his body too much. "Anything else-?" Judy began, turning back to face Grav only to find that he stepped close enough that their toes nearly touched.

"That gets you Bo," he continued, "but  _ if _ you want him with all his branches intact, then you will be  _ mine _ , and  _ mine _ alone."

Judy's steel did not falter, but she rolled the idea about behind her widest eyes, and answered in her sweetest tone, "Just the two of us, you mean?" she whispered, reaching out to brush both paws along his shirt to inch inside his jacket, and sliding one of her feet between his.

"Us, and our  _ beautiful _ children," he cooed, leaning in triumphantly to the boasts of whooping and whistling from his peanut gallery.

"Oh,  _ Grav _ ," she swooned, one arm around his waist, the other at his chest, before firmly stating, "don't make promises you can't  _ keep _ ."  Judy shoved with all her strength against Grav's sternum as she hooked an ankle out from under him; quick paws grabbed the firearm from the back of his pants and pointed it at an understandably shocked Grav after a quick step back.

"Freeze; ZPD!" Nick yelled in tandem with the shove, stepping out from around a half-turned Gideon, shotgun cocked and braced to his shoulder; he then whipped out the bright, golden shield of his badge in the other paw.  He advanced swiftly and handed off his badge to Judy, shotgun leveled in full grip at the group standing around Bo. "Step back and toss your weapons my way," he directed.

The world, it seemed, swung for a full beat of its pendulum as the butterscotch rabbit took stock of his situation.  "Do as her fox says," Grav ordered his defiant entourage, dark eyes staring down the barrel of his own revolver, but up into Judy's fierce, violet irises.

"Get down on the ground and put your hands behind your head," Officer Hopps continued, loud enough for them all to hear.  The jacket-clad fluffle readily acquiesced to her authority, some dropping like leaves. Grav's leer turned demonic, but he, too, assumed the position.  "What's Bo's status?" she inquired, eyes never leaving Grav.

"I've got a pulse and shallow breath," Officer Wilde reported, once more bracing the shotgun to his shoulder as he checked Bo's vitals, "Sheriff Longmare and an ambulance should be  _ en route _ -"  He was cut off by the sound of sirens and a flashing aura of lights down the street, to which he smirked, "Speak of the devil."

* * *

"Okay, so, walk me through it again?" Gideon asked, once more behind the wheel of his van and getting a bit sore in the seat because of it.

"From the  _ beginning _ , or…?" Nick queried, arm dangling through the open window in the balmy, early evening breeze.  The van seats were not yet  _ completely _ dry, it seemed.

"I guess the part about how you and Judy have some kind of… mind-link thing going on," the stouter fox shrugged, "And what happened when you ran back into my apartment?  I nearly jumped outta my fur when I heard you whispering behind me on the stairs; I thought you was a  _ ghost _ or somethin’."

"Ah,  _ that _ ," the taller fox chuckled, "Honestly, Bangs, you were the biggest variable in all this; if you were 'all dough' like you thought, we'd be up a creek without a paddle.  You showed real steel when it counted."

"Shucks, Stretch…" Gideon beamed, ears a bit pinker as he cleared his throat.

"Anyway," Nick continued with a grin, "Grav and his goons didn't scamper when a big, mean fox cocked his shotgun, which means he anticipated it and planned accordingly.  It wasn't until you swung the barrel about that Judy and I realized the extent of their arsenal."

"But only Grav and maybe another two packed heat?"

"Of the six present, including him,  _ all _ had a firearm, but not  _ all _ reached for it," he corrected, "Outgunned and outnumbered, I knew we needed backup, but we also needed to keep them thinking that Grav was in  _ complete _ control; if even one of those punks threatened to pop Bo's head, there'd be  _ nothing _ we could do about it.  It also meant  _ I _ couldn't be there, so I made a show of scurrying back inside to signal Judy-"

"That's where you lose me, Stretch," Gideon interjected, " _ How _ did you and Judy plan all that out?  You weren't outside very long."

"Quite simple, dear cousin-"

"Don't give me that," he snapped, "it is  _ not _ simple."

"Fair enough," Nick relented, "Judy and I are both observant, and as soon as we were partnered on the force she spent  _ hours _ upon  _ hours _ training us to act and  _ re _ act on each other's cues.  I should tell you about the over-the-shoulder trust exercises some time," he mused, "What happened today is probably some of our finest work; if Bo weren't hit with a car, I'd want a recording of it.

"Things went as well as they did because we were both in familiar enough territory that we could improvise the finer details of a more generic plan of action, and as I said, in large part to your cooperation.  With you swaggering about -- all intimidating like and drawing attention to yourself -- I had the time to focus on how best to handle the situation without directly defusing the tension with Grav," Nick said, and then wandered off on a stray thought, "Imagine the kind of mischief you, Finnick, and I could've caused back in Zootopia…  Anyway," he said, earning an impatient glare, "I needed Judy to stall for time so I could call up Sheriff Longmare, and also to get more ammo. I  _ could _ have called the emergency hotline, but I needed something direct; luckily, you still have a cell phone number for 'Rachel' on your fridge."

"Ya'know, I forgot that was there."

"I thought 'Rachel' was either your landlady or sweetheart at first, but since you likely deal with the Hoppses directly and I saw absolutely  _ no _ signs of a girlfriend, I dismissed it.  Until earlier today, that is, when Esther enlightened me about one 'Sheriff  _ Rachel _ Longmare', and how she made frequent visits to your newly opened bakery on account of calls from the neighbors; Q.E.D., '2 + 2 = 4' and your sister isn't the only Grey on a first-name basis with the local authority.  Although now she has  _ my _ phone number in her call logs, so we'll see where that gets me."

"Oh!" Gideon said with a spark of revelation, "That must've been when Judy's ears were twitching.  She could hear you in the kitchen from  _ outside _ ?"

"I invest a lot of trust in our dear Officer Fluff," Nick boasted, "Her hearing is acute, even by bunny standards, something she no doubt honed.  I knew she not only heard  _ my _ end of the conversation but  _ Rachel _ 's as well.  From there, she stalled for time as long as she could.  I was busy sneaking about in your generous shadow of the setting sun, so I didn't get the chance to view her stellar performance.  I envy you in that regard, Bangs."

"I ain't gonna lie, Stretch, if it weren't for you and Judy, I'd've wiped that smirk off Grav's face in a mighty loud manner," huffed the stouter fox, and then shuddered, "Or, I dunno, considering all you just said maybe it would've ended up much worse for me; or Bo!  My stomach churns thinking about it."

"You're not going to wretch, are you?"

"No, no," he breathed, "I calmed myself down when I picked up the shotgun shells.  I guess it also helped when I gave that report to the deputy. And knowing that Bo was still conscious and on his way to the hospital," he spoke a bit faster, "He gets hit by a  _ car _ and he apologizes for dropping my  _ vat _ ?  I don't think I'll ever understand bunnies.  My gosh, I can't believe this happened the night before the TBR.  Whatever steel I had is probably wet noodles by now…"

"Maybe you'd like to not drive right now."

"N-… actually,  _ yes, _ let's switch," Gideon agreed, and pulled over with a gentle application of the brakes.  He leaned back into the bench seat and scooted along while Nick clambered over him, he then flopped in and buckled up.  "So  _ this _ is what it's like over here," he mused.

"This indentation is substantial," the taller fox observed, leaning on one side to feel the sunken seat cushion as he adjusted the mirrors.

"Again with the commentary," he scoffed, "For the hundredth time, I don't have other mammals using my stuff too much."

"Point of interest: which way is the hospital?" Nick asked, the van jerking forward, "Whoop!  Hold on," he assured.

"Head at least another mile down that way and hang a left.  Another 'point of interest':  _ can _ you drive stick?" Gideon asked, realizing it might've been better to clarify it beforehand.

"Finnick's van is manual and I've driven  _ that _ before," he insisted and managed to get it back on the road at a steady pace.

"Who's this 'Finnick' guy, anyway?"

"My kithood friend and  _ former  _ partner in legal crime," Nick smirked, "Shorter than Judy, but bigger ears, and  _ will _ drop you if you disrespect him.  He's the closest I've got to a brother, and all that entails."

"Who's winning, you or him?" Gideon smirked.

"We don't keep track."

"What?  That's like saying you don't banter at  _ all _ ."

"We banter, but we don't keep track," Nick replied soberly, and then looked at Gideon's sympathetic frown, before reaching over to pinch his cheek, "D'aww, look at  _ you _ , all sad for me and Finnick," he cooed.  He pulled back when swatted at.

"Road!" Gideon barked, "Road!"

"Whoop!  Hold on," corrected Nick, "That gentle curve came out of  _ no _ where.  I'm more used to city driving, methinks; it's much safer."

"It's paved and painted, Stretch!"

"I can see that, Bangs, but there are no  _ reflectors _ .  It's a wonder you country drivers can get anywhere at all," he remarked, "I'm  _ quite _ sure Preds Corner has road reflectors."

"Preds' Corner ain't on the way to the hospital, and it's a good thing we're headed to one because you're gonna give me a heart attack," huffed Gideon, and settled back into his seat.  After some minutes of quiet, he pointed out the windshield, "Left here, Stretch, left he- oh, for crying out loud…"

"Whoop!  Hold on," joked Nick, and as the stouter fox braced the dashboard when the van came to a quick and sudden stop.  He eased into a slow U-turn and backtracked to take a right down the correct road, "There, easily fixed."

"'Fixed' would mean  _ I _ 'm behind the wheel instead of  _ you _ ."

"In your state?  I wouldn't dream of it, Bangs;  _ you _ are on the verge of a nervous breakdown," he chided, "No, I shall perform my familial duty and drive."

"Then stop daydreamin’ and  _ drive _ !"  He took a breath and sunk back into his seat to cross his arms, "Don't think I didn't notice how you keep gazing off into the distance.  If you're still having hallucinations, Stretch, then don't drive. You're a cop, you should know that."

" _ About _ that," grinned the taller fox, his driving much smoother now that he had his fun, "I've done some re-evaluation and have a new theory."

"'A new theory'?" challenged Gideon, at least glad that he could relax.

"It came to me when I was eating that sandwich," he narrated, dramatized as though it were some divine revelation, "Remember how I said I could 'imagine a conversation'?  And then when I said I 'hallucinated a conversation'? What if they were, in fact, one and the same?"

"You're joking."

"Maybe a little," he shrugged and smirked, "Granted, I've  _ never _ imagined a conversation as vividly as I did on Friday and it usually doesn't result in cardiac arrest, but consider this: what happened when  _ you _ made the whipped cream?  I assume you tasted it frequently to check for flavor."

"Well, yeah, of course, I did," Gideon replied, sounding a bit more curious, "but I didn't get any hallucinations from it.  You had a teeny-tiny bit and it was lights-out for you."

"I think  _ that _ 's because you have a stronger constitution than I do, and because you weren't medicated against Night Howler pollen; your resistance was built up over a longer period of time, so it's surer than mine against variance," he explained, "Think back, Bangs, it wasn't too long ago that you whipped it all up, maybe even over the course of several days.  Does nothing stand out?"

"I  _ just _ said I didn't get any hallucinations," he asserted.

"My dear Bangs," grinned Nick, "imagination is more than visual.  Did  _ any _ thing stand out?"

"You sound like one those after-school specials."

"Humor me."

Gideon rolled his eyes, "Alright,  _ fine _ ," he relented, "but gimme a moment.  A lot's happened in the last few weeks."

"Take all the time you need," Nick said, pulling into the ER parking lot, and killed the engine, "Remember, you said that you could 'imagine' the taste and texture of something before you started baking it."

The pastry chef stared off into the distance for a solid minute, and then looked back at the taller fox in the van, "I was really proud of that whipped cream," he began, "it was gonna be my crowning glory.  Felt like with every new batch I made, my heart skipped a beat and I got that rush of energy to keep going, to make another batch, because it was gonna be  _ better _ , somehow."  He scratched at his neck, "Even though I knew it was poisoned I was so happy when I saw it yesterday before Bo upchucked in it because it came out  _ exactly _ how I pictured it would."

"Do you see what I'm getting at, Bangs?"

"I think so," he said, and unbuckled his seatbelt, "It doesn't bring us any closer to figuring out who did it, though."

"No, I suppose not, but that's why we brought along the remaining bowl," Nick replied, tossing a thumb at the back of the van.  "We'll hit up the sheriff's after we check in on Bo."

"Oh, Stretch, thanks for reminding me," Gideon said, leaning to one side and reaching into a pocket to pull out a slip of paper, "I entirely forgot about this, on account of all that's happened in the last hour, but I found this in the cleaned-out vat when I put the whipped cream inside."

"A love note?" teased Nick, "I think our dear Ms. Clarabelle is courting a bit below her age bracket."  His smile immediately fell when he opened the slip of paper.

"My face was something like that."  Gideon smirked, peeking over the taller fox's shoulder as he explained, "Except I had more of an arch to my brow, ya'know, all curious like."

"Hold this," he said blandly, and reached into his pocket to fish out his wallet, pulling from it the receipt from lunch, "Look, what do you see?"

"I see you got to go to  Ratatouille , and I didn't," the stouter fox harrumphed, "What's your point?"

"No,  _ look _ , someone else covered our check-"

"And you ate for  _ free _ ; I'm sure you were thrilled about that."

"Gideon, look at the  _ signature _ ," he sighed, "Okay, it's all blotchy from the water." He crumbled up the receipt and stuffed it into his pocket, before pulling out his phone, " _ Luckily _ , I had the wherewithal to take a picture of it for easy recollection.  Now, bite back the snark and take a gander at these two doodles. They're nearly  _ identical _ ," he explained, holding the note from the vat and digital image side-by-side, "The same smiling fox face on the same shield over the same 'ka-poof!'."

"Did Ms. Clarabelle pay for your lunch or something?" he asked skeptically.

"I sincerely doubt it," Nick answered, "Anonymity isn't really her  _ thing _ ."

"So what's 'ka-poof'?"

"According to Bo, it's supposed to be the company pledge from Hexward; a 'homophone of the acronym', anyway," he thought back to recall it, "The 'Correct and Proper Use of Pharmaceuticals'."

Gideon mouthed the phrase and counted off his fingers, quirking a brow as he waggled the last finger, "Except 'Pharmaceuticals' begins with a 'P'," he pointed out, "and I thought the  Hexward logo is a set of antlers?"

"I always thought it looked like a fox's face on a shield," Nick shrugged, and then continued in a darker, trepidatious tone, "and apparently so does whoever drew these."

"Sounds like you have an idea about it."

"I do."

"But don't want to say what it is."

"I don't."

"C'mon, Stretch, you'll get to be all sly and stuff," grinned Gideon.

"I think Grav paid for our lunch and sent these doodles as messages," Nick finally admitted, leaning on the steering wheel.

"Grav?" Gideon clearly doubted, "Mr. Hit-my-love-rival-with-a-car;  _ that _ Grav?"

"I'm pretty sure  _ that  _ was revenge," the taller fox admitted, "After lunch, Carrots and Cherries went to get their toes done-"

"'Cherries' is Essy?"

"Yes.  Anyway, they did that, while I and Punch-"

"I'm guessing 'Punch' is Bo."

"Please keep all questions and comments until the end," Nick interjected, ignoring the facial expressions from his cousin, " _ Anyway _ , we went to  Phil's for a drink, Grav followed, and we beat him up when he decided to start trouble."

"Didn't think you the bar-brawlin' type, Stretch," Gideon grinned momentarily, but continued with a frown, "So, Grav hit Bo with his car because you guys beat him up?"

"I think he was more upset by the fact that I tased him," Nick mentioned offhandedly.

"'Tased him'?" Gideon was aghast, "Why'd you go and do a thing like  _ that _ ?  Don't get me wrong, I'd give my left leg for a chance to do that, but no  _ wonder _ he's mad.  Why'd you even have a taser, to begin with?"

" _ I _ didn't;  _ he _ did," the taller fox corrected, "That dumb bunny had a fox-taser shoved down the front of his pants; all  _ I  _ did was turn it on.  He might as well worn a shirt that said, 'Click  _ here _ to nominate me for the  Deerwin Award '," and pointed down at his crotch.

When the scene slowly unfolded in Gideon's mind, he bit back a goofy grin and smacked the dashboard; regardless of any self-restraint, the stouter fox burst into raucous laughter, gripping his sides and heaving for breath.  While Nick enjoyed someone earning their comeuppance in so karmic a manner, he still remembered that dark look in Grav's eyes before it happened. He saw hatred before, directed at himself more often than he'd like, but Grav's was malice that Nick actively avoided; it could not forgive and it could not forget.  Still, Gideon's merriment was as full and boisterous as an oven-fresh pie, and knowing what he knew about the stouter fox's past, allowed himself to catch the jollies.

"Alright, Bangs, we've been loitering in this parking lot for long enough, I think other mammals are staring," he said, clapping Gideon's back and setting his car keys on the dashboard to return them, "Let's get inside and check on Bo."

"Yeah, this really ain't a laughing manner," laughed Gideon, wiping a tear from his eye as he stepped out of the van after grabbing his returned keys, "Grav's as vindictive as they come."

"Oh goody, I've made myself a new enemy, maybe even a  _ nemesis _ ," Nick dramatized, “It's really a wonder what can happen in a forty-eight hour period.”  They walked down the car aisle towards the brightly lit ER waiting room, "In all seriousness, if  _ that _ 's what you had to deal with as a kit, I can see why you'd turn to violence as a coping mechanism."

"It felt good to push him down the first time, Stretch," Gideon admitted, "but ya'know, I've thought on it lots over the years, and I can't shake the feeling he  _ wanted _ me to fight back.  Even though he was younger and smaller than me, he riled me up like a jackal-in-the-box  _ every _ chance he got."

"Having experienced his antagonism firsthand, I can attest that it leaves an impression.  Whether he  _ plans _ to get his tail handed to him or not is still a mystery to me," Nick smirked.

"Well, that guy was a psycho as much back then as he is  _ now _ , I can see that clear as day.  And it didn't matter that I was one of the oldest and biggest preds on the playground at the time.  Ya'know, a 'farmyard fox', like you said," he challenged with a grin.

"The phrase was 'farmyard  _ predator _ '," he amiably corrected, "but despite how often I am right, I don't actually deny when I'm wrong.  That said, I couldn't honestly predict that it was a prey, much less a  _ bunny _ , that drove you to bully.  And you still had sway around the school, so no need for rescission  _ there _ ."

"Hey, I  _ tried _ to play nice, acting like Pa would want me to, but Grav led the other kids in a  _ crusade  _ treating me like I was some mean ol' fox up to no good;  _ daily _ .  And get this, he claimed that  _ fox-flu _ was contagious.  I hadn't had it for  _ years _ and he wasn't even around when I did!"

"Villainous!" Nick, glowered, and then said normally, if still disapprovingly, "He must've heard about it from some older kids."

"Well, once I bared my teeth, it all went downhill and that was that;  _ I _ was the bad guy.  Still, looking back on it, it kinda felt like he wouldn't  _ let _ me be a 'nice fox'."

"Hoo boy…" Nick said, rubbing the back of his neck, "This might be worse than it seems."

"Don't say that, Stretch, I don't need any 'worse' right now."

"I'll keep it to myself, then, but I do have a question."

"Oh  _ no… _ "

"Only for sake of clarification," Nick assured, one-arm hugging the stouter fox as they walked, "Grav is  _ younger _ than you?"

"Yeah, same age as Judy," he answered, and then braced for another bombshell.

Nick grunted with a smirk, "Neat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Deerwin" is a pun on "Darwin".
> 
> The "jackal-in-the-box" is a common if old-timey toy amongst the children predator species (sometimes deemed too scary for prey species).
> 
> So that's what happened with Grav... I'm sure he won't come up again.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ask yourselves, as you gaze aloft, as to what all is kept up there.  
> How does each star not fall so far, but stay lodged within the air?  
> While you're asking, ask some more, as to what those lights could be.  
> Are they fireflies or kingly eyes, watching over you and me?  
> Or balls of gas, burning bright; only that and nothing more?  
> And should you care what's in the air, or what all came before?  
> Ask these things, as you lay reposed, in the cradling grass so soft,  
> So when you're done and had your fun, gaze not at the aloft.  
> To the ground, do come back, and tell us all you've learned,  
> Answer queries and prove theories of truth, in our hearts, once burned."
> 
> -Warren Mother Mapleroot, the Hexward Tenants

The ER waiting room of Bunnyburrow General Hospital was what one expected during a sudden and temporary population spike.  To Nick's satisfaction, neither he nor Gideon earned so much as a second glance from an occupancy that was ninety-percent bunny and ten-percent miscellaneous.  Perhaps the only unsettling aspect of the whole situation was how _efficiently_ newcomers were admitted, treated, and released.   _Maybe it's only my imagination, but it's like bunnies operate in an entirely different dimension than other mammals_ , the taller fox pondered, following Gideon in line to see the receptionist.

"Hello, sirs," said she, a portly, chipper auburn rabbit, at the ready with an admissions form and pen, and what looked like a well-nursed cup of coffee within arm's reach, "How can I help you both this evening?"

"We're here visiting a friend, Bo Briar," the stouter fox explained with a cordial smile, taking the seat while Nick leaned carefully, casually on the counter, "should've gotten in recently."

"Let's see… Okay, while Mr. Briar _is_ available for visitors, I'm afraid that only family is allowed in right now," she said, "I'm sorry."

"Perhaps we can get a status update, then?" Nick broke in with a concerned smile of his own, "We were there when he was hit with the car and to know that he's at least okay would be a _huge_ relief."

"Oh, I see," she said and nodded with a polite smile before addressing her computer.

"Thank you so much, Tillie," he said, glancing at her nametag, "we've been stressing out about it _all_ the way here."  Gideon remained mostly quiet but grunted in agreement.

"I hope you don't mind my asking," 'Tillie' began, glancing up from her computer screen, "Are you two…?"

"We're cousins," Gideon nonchalantly answered, "How'd you guess?"

" _Cousins_ ," she said, as though corrected, "Well, you're dressed so alike, I figured you were close."

"Stretch here tripped over a bucket of water," he snickered, bumping the taller fox with his elbow, "so he's borrowing some duds."

"Bangs, I am making these 'duds' _work_ ," he said, fingers splayed dramatically on his chest as he pulled from his pocket a black strip of fabric with a small ochre stain on it.

"Hey, that's _my_ tie," Gideon realized, "When'd you swipe that?"

"When you weren't looking," Nick smirked, popping the flannel collar and knotting the necktie, fingers moving with such grace and speed it hardly seemed real.  With a tie to adjust, he loosened it and smoothed his collar smugly, "To think, I was _actually_ seen in public without one."

"Tillie!" called a cordial voice from behind the glass wall of the receptionist's desk; a sheep in a doctor's coat was leaning in through the door leading to the patients' rooms, "Go ahead and send them both back; Bo's asking for them."

"Will that be okay?" Nick asked the auburn bunny.

"Well, I _suppose_ it couldn't hurt," she relented after drumming her fingers, and taking out some stick-on name tags to write a stylized number on each, "The patient is asking for you, after all, and Dr. Curry seems okay with it.  Here, he's in room 3, inside and on your left. I'll buzz you in."

"Thank you _so_ much, Tillie, you've lifted a weight from our shoulders, you really have," beamed Nick, to which she smiled cheerily, happy to help.

"The 'lucky fox' strikes again," Gideon whispered with a grin as they crossed the threshold from a busy waiting room.

He was a fairly young sheep, perhaps mid-twenties since his green-irised pupils still had their youthful, circular shape even though the oval known in mature sheep was starting to show.  A cloven hoof extended in a greeting of their approach. "Hello, I’m Dr. Curry. Gideon, it's good to see you."

"Hiya, Dr. Gareth," the stouter fox said, accepting the handshake, "I'm afraid I don't have any lemon bars tonight; I was kind of caught off guard."

"For the better, I think," he said with a chuckle, "Otherwise, I'd have to share them, and you know how I am about your lemon bars."

"At long last, a fellow appreciator of Gideon's craft," the taller fox said, holding out his own handshake for the sheep, "Nick, Nick Wilde."

"So, _you_ 're that 'Nick' I keep hearing out," Dr. Gareth replied, returning the gesture.

"Oh dear, _doth_ my reputation precede me?" he dramatized.   _Dang, no introductory paralysis,_ Nick thought, _it must have been a yesterday-only kind of thing._

"Don't worry, it's all good things."

"That's what I was afraid of," he teased.

"Bo's awake, as you probably guessed," Dr. Curry said after a soft laugh, gesturing them both down the hall and near the back of the central nurses' center.  "Judy heard you come in a few minutes ago," he continued, "She probably heard you pull into the parking lot."

"How's she do that, Stretch?" Gideon asked, " _You_ 've been her partner for a year."

"Anything that defies both science and logic is beyond my understanding," Nick admitted.

"Did you ever just… _ask_ her?" the ram wondered aloud.

"And give her that satisfaction?" he rebuked.

"I'll _never_ understand you foxes," Dr. Curry said with a good-humored grimace.

"That's a relief," Gideon whispered loudly to a nodding Nick.

"Knock knock?" the ram said, rapping his knuckles on the frame of the sliding glass door of room #3, stepping in and peeking around the closed curtain.  "Right as always, Judy: one 'Nick' and one 'Gideon'; found them flirting with the receptionist," he continued, pulling back the divider when he ascertained visible permission.

"Hi guys!" Judy greeted cheerily.  Bo grinned brightly and waved from his bed, but only at the wrist since the rest of him was under heavy restraints.

Both foxes stared blankly, before Nick turned to Dr. Curry, "Someone made a few escape attempts, did he?"

"This isn't Mr. Briar's first rodeo," the doctor sighed with a roll of his semi-elliptical eyes.

"But you were hit by a _car_ ," Gideon said with a scratch of his noggin.

"And like I keep telling Gareth," the earthen-brown rabbit explained, "as soon as I heard the engine, I relaxed my body so to let the impact push me forward, and then the endorphins put me in a partial catatonic state."

"This happens often, does it?" Nick asked Judy wryly.

"He digs and launches rocks out of the ground," Judy answered Nick, smirk-for-smirk, "Blunt force trauma is an occupational hazard."

"But you jumped out of your _fur_ ," Gideon accused her.

"Of course, I'm scared _every_ time Bo gets hurt, even though I know he'll probably pull through," she admitted, reaching over to pat his bashful cheek.

"Well," the ram sighed, but quirked a brow and smiled as he clapped Bo's shoulder, "I'm going to check on some patients who _actually_ need my attention.   _You_ , Mr. Briar, are staying overnight for observation."

"But…!"

"Standard.  Procedure," he asserted, "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times.  Now, get some rest; if you're good, _maybe_ I'll have one of the nurses come in and loosen these restraints.  Before I forget, Nick, a question for you."

"Who, _me_?" the taller fox queried, feigning insinuation.

"Yes, _you_ ," he smirked, "Your surname, is it with an 'e' or without?"

"With," Nick easily answered, "Any _particular_ reason for such a question?"

"Curiosity, is all," he admitted, before pulling back the curtain to exit, "One of the nurses is a 'Wild', but without the 'e', and I was reminded of them.  Ring if you need anything," and closed the sliding glass door, muffling the ambient noise from the hallway.

"He must be talking about that one nurse that held Bo down," Judy pondered, looking to each fox as either grabbed a chair from a corner of the room, "'Wilde' isn't so uncommon a surname, though, with an 'e' or without."

"Why bring it up?" Gideon asked.

"Well," the gray bunny began, hopping up and sitting on the bed next to Bo, "This guy had three orderlies trying to hold him down, and while the injuries from the car weren't _crippling_ , if he kept thrashing about he was going to cause permanent damage, to himself and any hopes for the MMA."

"I was more scared they wouldn't let me see you," Bo confessed, "I kept telling them to ease up on the injections or else I’d be bedridden for a whole day, maybe _two_ , and then I'd miss the tractor pull.  You'd think they'd remember that about me, and I knew they'd listen to _you_."

"And then a lion nurse came out of _nowhere_ ," she said, "and braced Bo against the bed, calming him almost immediately."

"A _lion_ ?" Nick and Gideon both asked, in respective cynicism and awe.  They exchanged glances, and the stouter fox turned bashfully away.  "Okay, so, a lion, there’re _plenty_ in the city and I’m sure there are _plenty_ out here,” _Unless… he’s a bit more prominent than that,_ “Is he this 'Nurse Wild', who draws so much attention?"

"So says his uniform,” Judy answered, “I'm grateful for his help and would like to thank him directly but I haven't seen him since, or for that matter, ever before," she pointed out, "It was the first time hearing his voice, but I… how do I put this… it _felt_ like everything would…” she then quoted the air, “‘be okay’.”

“Oh!” said Bo, “Was this one of those…?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure you’ve _never_ met him before?” the boy bunny wondered.

“ _Pretty_ sure,” she said, “Weird, huh?”

"Ah _ha_ ," Nick realized, crossing his arms and thumbing his chin, "So _that_ 's how you recognize voices from a mile off and through solid concrete; you use emotional association.  It also explains how you can operate without going completely _insane_ from the constant chatter because you can filter it as either background noise or detailed info."

The room sat in silence a bit, Gideon and Bo blinking between the resident officers.  Judy smiled and shrugged, "It was never really a secret, Slick, but if you want to know the nitty-gritty, I'm more than happy to elaborate."

"You’ve never really detailed the feeling you’ve assigned to each us," Bo poised nervously.

"I listen to what my heart says about my loved ones," she cooed, fingers brushing between his ears to melt the large rabbit.  " _You_ , Bobo, soothe and excite my heart simultaneously; like when you shake the dirt off a carrot after pulling it from the ground."

"Bunny romanticism is _weird_ ," Nick whispered loudly to a nodding Gideon.

" _You_ ," she continued, pointing a finger at the taller fox with a daring smirk, "are like the beeping of a timer with only a few seconds remaining.  Sometimes, it's that pitching anticipation before a light turns green; other times, it's the countdown of a timebomb."

"Good, I was worried I made you complacent," Nick smirked right back.

"And what about me?" the stouter fox asked reflexively but almost immediately regretted doing so, if by nothing other than inward doubts.

"You," she began in a soft, warm tone, "For as long as I've known you, Gideon, your voice always said 'Help me'.  Until this afternoon, it sounded like _you_ needed the help for yourself."

"And… _since_ this afternoon?" he quietly risked.

"It sounds like the help is for the others still in need, and that we can do it together," she beamed, sitting up on the bed and cross-legged.

"Wow…" he replied, also in awe.

"I _see_ ," Nick continued his cynicism, "These two get feel-good emotions, while _I_ 'm the alarm clock without a snooze button."

"Esther's kind of the same way," Judy kept on, brushing his comment aside with a flick of her wrist, "Hers is more like a rallying cry, though.  Of course," the bunny added slyly, "when you two converse it's an _entirely_ different matter."

"Let's change subjects-" Nick prompted.

" _Please_ ," Gideon agreed.

"To 'Nurse Wild'," he grinned, turning on his cousin.

"Wait…"

"Come to think of it, I recall seeing a smaller hospital in Preds Corner during our little tour of the town," he pressed on, flicking a finger between himself and Bo, "That lion nurse was probably their breath-of-life standby in the maternity ward, brought over to help with the of patients.  'No rest for the weary', as they say. Perhaps a recent addition, and since neither of our bunnies spends too much time in Preds Corner, it's reasonable that they haven't met him before tonight.

"Now, I know that the Greys are a Chronicler family and lions play a prominent role in that _particular_ symbology, so what about Nurse Wild caught your attention?" Nick asked, resting his chin on a folded paw while leaning on the arm of his chair.

"Do we have to go into this _now_?" the stouter fox asked, fingers twiddling.

"No, we _don't_ , right Nick?" Judy asserted.

"Certainly not," agreed Nick, "simply a curiosity.  I respect your decision, one way or the other, but I would _love_ to hear what you have to say on the matter."

"It's silly, that's all," the baker said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"If you don't feel comfortable talking about it, Gideon, _we_ won't force you," the gray bunny reminded, speaking to one fox but implying towards the other.

"No, I can talk about it," he shrugged and grinned as best he could, "The day's been about getting stuff out in the open, right?  And this ain't something I'm ashamed of."

"Atta boy," Nick encouraged, giving his cousin a thumbs-up.

"So, back when I was three, I think, I was sitting with Ma and Essy out in the fields around our house while Pa was working on a big project with the inside, and making a din because.  It was getting darkish, so the fireflies were buzzing about in the nearby woods. Well, Pa called from the house and Ma told my big sister to watch me. She would be nine at the time, and maybe she wasn't one-hundred percent attentive or something, because I snuck off after those fireflies."

"I think I see where this is going," Judy said.

"Yeah.  It's one of my earliest memories, toddling into those woods," he recalled, "I still have dreams about spending hours in there, but how Essy tells it, it was only a few minutes."

"And what about the lion?" Bo asked.

"Well…" the stouter fox continued, "That's the weird thing.  I remember that there was a _huge_ , old lion that I met in the woods that day, and long story short, he brought me back home.  Essy made me promise not to tell Ma or Pa that I wandered off, so I didn't say anything about it, figuring my baby brain imagined it.  Anyway, that's why I like lions, because of that memory," he then grinned and glared at Nick's brewing snark, " _Yes_ , that affected my vote for Lionheart, but also because of his Mammal Inclusion Initiative."

"And Esther didn't see this stranger in the woods?" Judy doubted.

"Nope," assured Gideon, "I asked but she said she didn't, otherwise, she'd've made a much bigger fuss about someone sneaking around nearby, right?"

"A mammal that size with tawny fur couldn't hide from a fox in the dark if their life depended on it," Nick postulated, "Especially if they were close enough to drop you off in sight of the house.  My vote is for 'baby brain imagination'," he poised, "By the way, what distracted young Esther after Ruth entrusted her with your safekeeping?"

"Hah!" the baker snorted back a laugh, "Right, that.  She said she saw two shooting stars cross paths, and made a wish on 'em," he drew an 'X' in the air with downward fingers, still smirking, "I hope she didn't wish for a new baby brother or sister."

The ears of both Judy and Bo sprung like sails in a tailwind, he gazing at her as she widened her eyes in rapt curiosity, "Gideon," she gasped, "Was that twenty-five years ago?"

"Yep!"

"I think that happened on the night I was _born_."

"No way," he began at first, but looked at her again, and then to Bo, "Wait, _really_?"

"It's kind of a big thing on the Hopps farm," the larger rabbit confirmed, a smile growing on his face, "Ask her parents, she was born _exactly_ when the stars crossed," he went on, and Judy didn't try to stop him but bashfully shrugged, "According to them, only a few minutes after birth, her big purple eyes were open and ears were twitching; it's unheard of for a bunny."

"The crossed stars were a theme of mine _all_ throughout childhood," Judy said with a gentle roll of her eyes, "It's supposed to be _really_ lucky but I haven't heard anything substantiating that claim.  Besides, there must've been five or six other bunnies born under those same stars as me," she began but then caught herself on… something, "Still, it must've been a beautiful sight; I only wish I could've seen it myself."

"I only found out about the stars because I read Essy’s diary,” Gideon chuckled to his cousin.

"It seems luck favors the eldest, because _I_ actually saw that celestial event, back when I was an eight-year-old kit," Nick boasted, but to Judy's acute ears his smug grin held something back, too, "It was the same night my dad opened up his tailoring shop, Suitopia , and _that_ 's been going strong ever since."  Their eyes locked for an instant, probing purple and rueful green, for Judy remembered why that day was so significant to Nick; it was the night of his first, and last, Junior Rangers Scout meeting.

"Hey, that means Mr. Wilde's shop and Judy have the same birthday," the stouter fox chuckled, "Although I guess I should call him 'Uncle John' now, shouldn't I?"

Nick's phone rang it's somber-yet-upbeat melody before he had a chance to answer, and whipping it out to check the number, he saw it was the second most recent in the call logs.  He grunted in recognition and stood to hand it over to Judy, "I believe it's for _you_ , Carrots," he smirked.

"Oh?" but before she grasped it, "Oh…"  Accepting the phone (with great care, since it was sized for a fox; thankfully, her long ears allowed her to talk and listen at the same time), she looked at the number and confirmed her suspicions, taking a deep breath to tap at the green button.  "Hello?" she grimaced, but forced a smile, "Hi Dad, hi Mom," she said weakly, fingers waving at the air as though they could see it, "Yes, I'm _very_ sorry I didn't call, but my phone got wet and … Well, you see, Bo is in the hospital … No, no, it was a car this time-" she pulled the phone away as distressed voices blared from it, "No, he's okay, look!" and tapped the video call button, "Say something, before they mobilize," she hissed.

"Hi everyone!" Bo grinned.

"Oh, thank heavens," said Bonnie, to a chorus of younger cheers, "Judy, dear, he doesn't need _all_ those straps, does he?"

"I got it," Gideon offered, standing up from his chair and walking to the bed, tugging at the winch to loosen the cuff and free Bo's paw.

"Is that Gideon?" Stu asked, "Who else you got over there?"

"Hello Hoppses," greeted Nick, leaning in to squeeze Bo's cheeks together, "This guy took a semi-truck to the face and walked it off.  Ain't he something?"

"But it was a Furrari and it was to the back?" Bo questioned in confusion.

"There, see?" the taller fox assured, tapping his knuckle on the bunny's chin, "He's at full functionality.  The hospital even needed a _lion_ to keep him down."

"A _lion_?" Stu gasped, "What's a lion doing at the hospital?"

"Okay, Nick, I think you made your point," Judy smirked, bringing over the bed-tray to prop the phone up against a carton of orange juice.  Before she lay in next to Bo so they could both be in the phone call, she glanced up to Nick tapping his wrist and then pointing out the door; she mouthed a 'Thank you'.

* * *

 

The foxes made their way out to allow the bunnies their time to chat, Nick sliding the door shut as Gideon gazed uncertainly at the nurses' station.   _Still an open book, Bangs_ , smirked the taller fox, "You know his first name, don't you?" he whispered.

The stouter fox flinched, but it seemed he was growing more accustomed to his cousin's insightfulness and nodded discreetly.  He whispered back, "I don't _know_ his first name, but I have a hunch."

"So, go ask," Nick suggested, "The worst that'll happen is they'll say it's not him, 'Is there anything else we can help you with?', and you'll be on your merry way.  What if it _is_ him, though? What if this Nurse Wild is the lion you're _obviously_ looking for but you never scraped up the courage to ask?"

"That's what I'm afraid of, Stretch," he dreaded, fingers twiddling once more, and leaned into a quieter whisper, glancing at the sliding glass door with the acute listener beyond.  He pursed his lips and gestured Nick in closer, and then closer still, "I… I wasn't _alone_ in therapy; there was another kid there, a lion cub, but it was like I was the only one who saw him.  None of the… no one else so much as _looked_ at him, in all the time I was there."

Nick grunted in thought, "There _is_ such a thing as using neglect as a punishment."

"I _thought_ he was real back then but ever since?  I figured he was some kind of… not a hallucination, but whatcha calls it…"

"Illusory coping mechanism?"

"Yeah, _that_ , that's what I thought he was," Gideon said, still whispering as best he could, "I mean, I seem to have a history of making up lions, popping in and out of the blue, but if he's been not only _real_ but living in Preds' Corner all this time…?"

"So, go _ask_ ," he repeated, and pushed on his cousin's back, ushering him around the nurses' station to the front, "I'll come with you, for emotional support."

"No, I _can't-_!" the stouter fox resisted, digging his heels fruitlessly into the smooth floor.

" _Sure_ you can," Nick insisted, "Be sly about it, like Mr. Foxglove."

"I ain't as sly as _you_ , Stretch, you know that," worried Gideon.

" _Sure_ you are," Nick insisted, "We're cousins, so we have the same potential for slyness."

"How d'you figure?" he doubted.

"Too late, we're here!" he whispered and shoved his fellow fox towards the receptionist nurse.

"Oh!" gasped the ewe behind the counter, but quickly recovering, "Hi, is there something I can help you with?" she asked, closing a medical report around a finger.

"N-not really," Gideon stammered but was nudged by Nick.  He mutely pleaded over his shoulder, and then put on his best smile to address the cloven nurse, "but I was wondering if, umm, if Lenny were still in tonight?"

"Do you have a last name?" she inquired, tapping the shoulder of a hare sitting at the computer, who glanced up and then over the counter with her direction.

"Lenny Wild, a lion and an old friend of mine," the stouter fox continued, gradually calming as he spoke, "I heard he might be working here tonight, and since I found out my bunny buddy was stable and resting, I figured I'd come over to say 'Hi'."

"Masterful," whispered Nick when the ewe and the hare exchanged glances.

"Not ringing any bells," the hare said, "I've been here all night but I haven't seen a lion, yet."

"You need your eyes checked," the ewe chided, "he's probably talking about the lion that held down Bo Briar."

"I don't need my 'eyes checked' because that was at least a half-hour ago, back when I was getting coffee," corrected the hare, "And don't act like you didn't know that."

"Regardless," she continued, "I think he was up from Preds' Corner delivering supplies, that's what I heard from some of the other nurses, anyway.  He's long gone by now, though."

"Wait, _that_ guy?" scowled the hare, "He drops off a bunch of boxes and we're supposed to process all that with everything else going on?"

"Lay off it," she scoffed, "Our supervisor already okayed the whole shebang, and not a moment too soon."

"That doesn't mean I have to _like_ it," he grumbled, and then looked to Gideon, "So his name's 'Lenny', huh?  I'll have to remember that the next time he comes by."

" _I_ didn't know his name was 'Lenny'," the ewe admitted, and leaned on the counter, "You say he's a friend of yours?"

"Uhh, I…" he began, but recovered soon enough, "That is to say, I haven't seen him in a long, _long_ while.  I knew a lion named 'Lenny' when I was a kid, y'see, and there aren't too many lions running about Bunnyburrow, much less ones that're my age, so I figured maybe he was, umm, this 'Nurse Wild' fella."

"Well, if you ever see him again, tell him 'thanks'," she said with a smile, tired as she was, "We appreciate the extra medicine around here, despite what _others_ would have you believe."  To this, the hare huffed and went back to his paperwork.  "Is there anything else we can help you with?" the ewe asked.

"N-No, thank you very much," Gideon assured, guided away by a smiling, saluting Nick towards Bo's room.

" _Nicely_ done, Bangs, I couldn't have handled that better myself," he commended, "Want to make a quick stop by Preds Corner before we go see the sheriff?"

"Nah," he breathed, slumping into the chair outside Room #3, "Whether he's 'Lenny Wild' or not won't change if it's today, tomorrow, or next week, and it doesn't sound like he's going anywhere soon, so there's no harm in waiting a few days.  As it stands, Stretch, I came face-to-face with the biggest things of my life in a single weekend, so my nerves are as ragged as a fiddler's strings after a hoedown."

"So much so that you've reverted to country colloquialisms.”

The glass door slid open, and out walked Judy with Nick's phone tucked under her arm, "I thought I heard you guys out here," she said, handing over the mobile device.  She closed the door behind her, "You both ready to go?"

"What about Bo?" Gideon asked.

"He and Grandpa Reggie are talking about what happened tonight," she reported, and began ushering them back to the waiting room, "I'll fill you both in when we get outside."

"Wait, your Grandpa Reggie's in there?" Nick wondered, craning his neck back.

" _Out_ side," she repeated patiently.

With their name tags removed to the nearby trashcan, the three were walking through the parking lot in tense silence, Gideon's face showing the extent of his bubbling anxiety.

"Okay, Carrots, we're outside," Nick pressed, "What's happening?"

"Did I say 'outside'?  I meant in the van," she smiled, "Chop chop, lots of ground to cover."

 _Oh dear…_ the taller fox realized, knowing his partner's responses in a dire situation and a dire situation is certainly sounded.  As they neared the baker's van, Nick turned to his cousin, "Bangs, you don't look well; want me to drive?"

" _No_ ," Gideon answered.

"Want _me_ to drive?" Judy offered, normal voice returning.

" _No_ ," Nick answered.

"One of us has to drive, that's how vehicles work."

"Jude can drive," the stouter fox decided, tossing her the keys, "You can handle stick, right?"

"Can I handle stick," the bunny playfully scoffed, catching the keys and hopping up to the driver's side, quickly inspecting the size-adjustments that came standard with all modern vehicles: the booster bench that folded up from the seat, the pedal extensions that locked into place, and the easy reach knobs to angle the mirrors to her specifications.

"And I get the window seat," he continued before Nick could claim it.

"Fine," Nick relented with crossed arms, "but I control the radio."  Climbing in first, Nick buckled up and squeezed himself as best he could after Gideon wedged in after him; utilizing the extra space provided by Judy's small frame, the taller fox leaned over a bit towards the driver's side as she started up the van.

* * *

 

The night was cool but comfortable, stars already out when the last of the sun was tucked away until morning.  Gideon felt much better as he leaned on the door with mostly closed eyes and hanging elbow, letting the air hit a simple smile; perhaps he wondered what he was missing by driving all the time.  Nick admired his cousin’s serenity as he carefully, ever-so-quietly opened the glove compartment to retrieve a clothespin spotted the day before.

" _Don't_ ," Judy patiently chimed, not bothering to even glance at her partner readying to pinch the clothespin around Gideon's ear.

"Eyes on the road, Carrots," he chided, and then deftly clipped the clothespin to the passenger side sun visor when Gideon smacked his lips, eyes opening to look about.

"Looks like we're headed to the farm, Jude," observed the stouter fox, "Isn't filing that report something of a priority?"  His repose did him a world of good, it seemed, sounding much calmer than in the hospital's parking lot.

"It is," she said, "and it's what we need to talk about."

"How're your nerves, Bangs, think they can take a bit more fiddling?" Nick asked.

"It doesn't sound like I have a lot of choice in the matter," Gideon lamented.

"That's the spirit."

"Grav's dad and my Dad grew up on the same farm (Sorry, force of habit; it’s actually more of an estate, I’d say) with Grandpa Reggie, which makes them brothers, but not by blood," Judy extrapolated and then clarified, "so when Grandpa Reggie found out that Grav hit Bo with his car, he was _furious_ and left him and all his buddies to sit in the holding cell at the sheriff's office overnight.  Tomorrow, they'll go in for assault and battery, but the big thing is they'll miss the TBR, which according to Grandpa, Grav was _really_ looking forward to."

"Carrots," Nick butted in, "you don't invoke secrecy for something a trivial as _that_."

"So impatient," she huffed, "While I don't have anything substantial, Grandpa said that Grav was especially sorry he would miss the pie-eating contest."

"Now, _that_ is something to invoke secrecy about."

"My thoughts exactly.  You know what this means, right?"

"Grav put the Night Howler in the whipped cream?" Gideon gasped.

"Almost," Judy smiled endearingly.

"Not quite," Nick corrected, "it means that Grav knows that we know about the whipped cream, and he wants us to know that it doesn't matter if we know that he's somehow involved in it."

"…Okay, I'm going back to sleep," opted the stouter fox.

"We actually need you awake for this," the bunny explained, "that's why I waited to start.  This involves _you_ , Gideon."

"Me…?" he asked, "I thought I was only the scapegoat in case things went south, right, Stretch?"

"That was the theory," Nick said as he pulled out the wrinkled receipt; Gideon followed suit and pulled out the note from his vat and handed it over.  Using the overhead clothespin, Nick clipped both pieces of paper up as though they were on an evidence board, idly fluttering from the outside breeze, "Bangs found _this_ doodle inside the vat Grav was leaning on back at the apartment, so he must've just put it in there.  Grav also followed Bo and me from the restaurant, so it's reasonable that he was the one who paid for our lunch based on the similarity between these doodles; ergo, these are delivering the same message."

"And the message is 'we didn't stop anything yesterday'?" Gideon realized.

"We stopped the first scheme," the taller fox explained, "which likely set a contingency plan into motion to implicate _you_ for whatever was going to happen to those bunnies.  The yellow-striped tent can be a landmark, 'Go in and poison the whipped cream directly'; risky, but contingency plans are meant to get the job done."

"But why _me_ ?" the stouter fox worried, "What did _I_ do?"

"This is only speculation," Judy continued with a clearing of her throat, "but the bunny/fox truce between you and my parents from the Pred-Scare could weaken if you're made into a menace."

"That… no, that's can't be true, can it?" he worried further, "Why would someone _do_ that?"

"For all we know, _this_ whole thing with the TBR could be a contingency plan of a larger scheme," she continued, "I spent last year studying the events leading to the Pred-Scare, and something hasn't sit right with me this entire weekend.  The _midnicampum holicithias_ , the unwitting test subjects, the framed predator; sound familiar?"

"Are you're saying that what's happening _now_ is more of what happened _then_?" Gideon fretted.

"Except the test subjects are bunnies this time around, and not predators," she then addressed Nick, "I couldn't figure out _why_ Bellwether was darting random citizens, until what you said yesterday, Slick: the first fourteen were a field test."

"And the variance in species from all over the city provided a range of data," Nick added, "Just like all the TBR visitors."

"Yet, _no_ one found out about it; why?" prompted Judy, "Because Bellwether targeted predators that were alone and easily found by Lionheart's timber wolves; she was in his shadow and handled all the paperwork, it would be _easy_ to track their movements and plan accordingly, right under his nose."

"Except Emmitt Otterton was targeted because was getting too close to the truth," Nick reasoned, "and Renato Manchas because he was a witness.  I'm sure the fact that his proximity to us at the time of his darting was an added benefit."

"It bothered me that Bellwether would do something like that.  Her voice always sounded desperate, yet hopeful, like she sincerely wanted a better world, same as me; I guess she was willing to do the wrong thing to do it, though, no matter how wrong it was," sighed Judy, "I don't know if Bellwether is behind all this, or if someone _else_ is copying her-"

"But…" the stouter fox pleaded, "It's not like she really _could_ start it up again… right?"

"Bellwether's behind bars but Zootopia is still healing from what she did," Nick explained, "All it would take to set it on fire is for a 'bad fox' to spark fear."

"And 'fear _always_ works'," Judy quoted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gareth is the boy sheep from the introductory scene of the movie and a friend of Judy. He and his sister, Sharla, are named after their voice actress, Madeline Curry; in this story, he is working his residency to become a brain surgeon and she is a rocket scientist, set to begin training for the Interspecies Space Station in a few years.
> 
> A common phrase amongst farm folk, "rodeos" are where bulls, horses, and other such mammals demonstrate their strength, speed, and endurance to entertain the crowd, either individually or against one another; it is known to get extraordinarily hectic and is colloquially used to describe altercations that turn a bit too rowdy.
> 
> Furrari = Ferrari
> 
> According to the director, "Renato Manchas" is the official name of the jaguar driver.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**** Gideon was out the window again but, instead of a contented smile, he wore a heavy frown; he never asked for the weight of the world, after all.  Judy would shoulder the burden without a second thought, were it hers to bear, and run up a mountain despite it. Nick, who mastered the art of defusing tension, knew there wasn't much he could do in the middle seat of a van, except control the radio.  So, he turned it on at low volume and tuned through the stations until he found what little he recognized as a Chronicler's hymn. The bunny looked to him curiously and he answered by studying the stouter fox's visibly relaxing posture.

"Hey Jude," Gideon muttered, not yet returning from the window, "What d'you feel when you hear Grav's voice?"

"I'm sorry?" she asked, eyes glimpsing from the road.

"You have an emotion for each of us," he enunciated and half-turned to face her, "What about Grav's?  You recognized him back at the apartment."

"I…" she hesitated, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, "I feel nothing."

" _ 'Nothing' _ ?" challenged Nick, clicking off the radio, "No metaphor for claws on a chalkboard or slopping muck?"

"When I hear his voice, there's nothing there.  I've tried finding something,  _ any _ thing, but…"

"Carrots, I regard emotions as a necessary nuisance," he teased, leaning in, "but even  _ I _ can feel his negativity."

"Okay, you want imagery?" she huffed, and pushed his smug face away, "Imagine that life is like… a  _ hallway  _ and everyone you meet is a room.  So, you know each door's address and maybe you can see the light from under the door, right?  That's how you know they're in there, and if you get close enough to put your ear at the door you can hear what's going on inside.  Well, I can hear what's going on from the hallway, but with Grav… there's  _ no _ sound, at all.  The light's on but there's no talking, or music, or TV, or microwave; it's dead silent, and super creepy.  I felt it -- or,  _ didn't _ feel it -- ever since I met him as a kid."

"I always figured you pushed him away because he kept chasing you," Gideon remarked, "Why's he so set on having you?"

"C'mon, Bangs, the guy's obviously a little-" Nick interjected.

"It's okay, Nick," she said, calmly driving along the evening country road, "It's because he thinks we're fated to be together.  Remember when I said 'five or six other bunnies' born under the crossed stars? As far as I know, only Grav is exactly the same age as me, down to the second."

"'Down to the second', really?" the taller fox doubted.

"Bunny doctors are  _ very _ precise when it comes to time of delivery," she explained, "Anyway, I guess as soon as he found that out, his new life's mission was to make me his mate.  That hasn't stopped him from chasing tail, of course; the concepts of 'love' and 'devotion' are likely foreign to him."

"You and Grav are literally star-crossed," Nick observed and reached over to console her, "You have my deepest sympathies."

"Thanks."

"Hey Stretch," Gideon continued, getting a casually confident grin from the taller fox, "You and Judy looked at each other when she talked about those stars.  I might not be super observant like you both are, but I know pain when I see it. So what  _ really _ happened?"

Nick was, in one of the few times Judy could recall, stunned to silence as he glanced back at the bunny before returning to his cousin with an unsure smile.  "It really  _ was _ the night my dad opened his shop but,  _ umm… _ how do I put this…" Nick paused.

"Just come out with it," Gideon suggested.

"Alright," he agreed, "Give me your paws."  Gideon complied in hesitation, so Nick cupped each and ducked his head, placing their palms and fingers around his skull, around his cheeks, and around his nape.  "Do you feel any scars?"

"No?" Gideon fretted.

"That's because my muzzle wasn't on for as long as yours."  Nick returned the paws and then relaxed into his position. Judy focused on the road as best she could while Gideon gawked.

"I wanted to join the Junior Ranger Scouts when I was eight, to be a trusted part of a group.  On my way to my first Scout meeting, I saw those crossed stars and made a wish on them, like any kit would," he narrated, "When I met with my fellow Junior Range Scouts, they held me to the ground and forced a muzzle on me because that was the ‘only way they could trust me’.  It was on for but a minute before I ran outside and yanked it off, and yet I am still haunted by it.

"By the way," Nick lauded, "You're much slyer than I give you credit for."

"Oh, well," Gideon shrugged, still learning the art of composure, "I don't have the luxury of being doughy, anymore, so I gotta sly up and fox right, ya'know?"

"Were these questions leading up to something, or simply curiosities?"

"They were," Gideon remembered, "I guess this one is for you both: you got the first 'ka-poof!' message  _ hours _ before Grav went to pick up Bo at Ms. Clarabelle's, so how could he know about the whipped cream  _ before _ that?"

" _ Oh _ ," Judy realized, "that is a  _ very _ good question."

"See?  Cousins," Nick nudged with his elbow, "slyness capacity."

"I think it's safe to say that aside from Bo, none of us told anyone else about it," Judy said, "You didn't tell Esther, right?"

"Of  _ course _ not," the taller fox scoffed, "What do you take me for?"

"We decided not to tell Essy," Gideon confirmed, tossing a thumb between the two of them, "I don't like keeping secrets from her, not if they're this big, so after this is over I'm letting her know what happened."

"That would be for the best," Judy agreed, "If this continues beyond tomorrow, she'd be a great asset.  As for Ms. Clarabelle, I was careful to give only the essentials."

"Ms. Clarabelle didn't blab.  You both can vouch for her character, and while I exaggerated a bit when I said she was a 'master hustler' earlier today, she's certainly not dumb.  Additionally, matters of secrecy are obviously important to her; remember her reaction when she thought she let slip a juicy nugget?"

"Whether she told Grav or not is a moot point," the bunny stated, "because she would only think to tell him if he charmed it out of her, which means he either knew or suspected it beforehand, ergo, Ms. Clarabelle wouldn't be the initial informant."

"Unless she was in cahoots with Grav," Nick speculated.

"Which she ain't, and the proof's in the pudding, or in this case, the whipped cream.  If she were in cahoots with Grav, it'd be  _ her _ cream I was whipping beforehand, not Tad's, and she wouldn't be so happy to know that a fresh batch was going into the TBR, would she?"

"Careful there, Gid," Judy teased, "you're on your way to becoming the second fox cop."

"But then who'd bake my pies?"

"An  _ excellent _ point," agreed Nick.

"If this weren't so serious, I'd be having fun figuring this stuff out," Gideon dared in a grin.

"You can have fun figuring it out, so long as you don't lose sight of your objective," she instructed, "Now, back to the matter at hand: how did Grav find out about the whipped cream before he picked up Bo?"

"What was he doing at Ms. Clarabelle's farm in the first place?" Nick postulated, "After taking some  _ Joules _ to the jewels, he should be laid up for the rest of the day, not joyriding."

"You don't think he was at her farm by coincidence?" doubted Judy.

"Not for a second," he scoffed again, "but that would mean he also knew that Bo would be there, something that was only possible to know when we got to the TBR."

"The TBR…" Gideon repeated, fingers drumming his chin, "There were bunnies  _ every _ where during setup, well into the afternoon.  I remember thinking aloud at times and they'd pop up out of nowhere with an answer; it was right unnerving, I'll be honest.  That's why I busied myself with the oven; it was the only place I could get any privacy."

Gravel on the van’s undercarriage provided the sole noise for several seconds.  "Maybe we should've taken a page from Goliath Grey and acted as though someone paid attention to everything we said or did," Nick remarked stiffly, “Most uncomfortably of all, everything that happened in the yellow tent.  It  _ would _ explain Grav’s immediate response.”

Judy grasped the same revelation as she slowed to a stop before the sign of the Hopps family farm, looking out to the distant farmhouse dimly lit like a candle.  "There's a lot of extended family in Bunnyburrow right now," she recalled, knuckles gripping around the steering wheel, at first with anxiety but then with determination, "We can't assume that they're all in league with Grav, but I hate to admit it, we can't pretend that  _ no _ one is, either.  He's always had flunkies, ever since he was a kid, and I should've known better, but I hoped against hope that the years made him into a better bunny."

"It's not your fault, Carrots.  Bullies don't leave the playground, they either reform or they take the playground with them and Grav doesn't seem the reforming type."

"So… does Grav want to restart the Pred-Scare to make Zootopia his playground?" questioned Gideon, "He can't have that much to gain from it, can he?"

"I don't know what more he  _ can _ gain, his dad is the head of the Hopps processing plant in the city, after all," Judy explained with a heavy sigh, shifting the van back into gear and continuing onward.

"This isn't important information?" Nick chided.

"Sorry, Slick, you two are so familiar with my family, I keep forgetting how much you  _ don't _ know," she smiled sadly, "Bunny family history isn't something that fits on a  Woolipedia page, after all, it's something that's…  _ absorbed _ by being part of it."

"So… do you think Grav's  _ dad _ is behind all this?" Gideon asked.

"If I did, I'd be grasping at straws; he's a pretty nice bunny," she admitted, "Sure, Grav's a rich and powerful sadist, but something like this doesn't make any sense.  If the Pred-Scare reignited from a single incident, the best he could hope for is to apprehend whoever caused it and come across as a big hero."

"Hey Bangs, remember that 'worse' I alluded to earlier?"

"If you had this figured out since then, why not say something sooner?" rebuked Gideon.

"I didn't have this 'figured out' until now because I needed my bunny to help piece everything together," Nick rebutted, "I hoped against hope that he wasn't a manipulative sociopath fueled by daddy's dollars, but this new insight proved my initial impression of him almost absolutely correct."

"'Almost'?"

"I don't know if he's killed anyone, yet," and crossed his fingers, "I'm really hoping 'not'."

"How about filling the rest of us in," Judy insisted, "What's this 'worse' you're talking about?"

Nick gave the floor over to a new, doubt-free Gideon.  "Remember back at Woodlands, how Grav and his jerks kept teasing me every day until I pushed back?  I think he did that to make me into a bad guy to protect the other kids from."

"I'd bet my tail he's at it again," Nick added, "For the record, I don't think that is the sole cause of all this but I'm sure it's what got Grav into it."

Gideon spotted the radish fields passing by and said, "Before we get there, Judy, I want to thank you for standing up for me when I was picked on as a kit.  And… I'm glad it was  _ you _ that kept me from hurting the other kids, even though I didn't show it at the time."

Judy loosed a quiet, heartfelt moan of gratitude, bright purple eyes across one fox and to the other, "Nick, would you hug him for me, please?"

"What,  _ now _ ?" Nick asked, glancing at the nearer farmhouse, "You can't wait until we get out?"

"C'mon, Slick, the moment's fading and I'm at the wheel," she said, "Now get hugging."

"Don'tcha wanna hug me, Stretch?" teased Gideon, holding out his arms as best he could in the confined space of the van.

"I'll tell him about the clothespin," she warned.

"What about the clothespin?"

Nick leaned forward and embraced his cousin, "I'm proud of you, Bangs," he said swiftly, "You've gone through the fires of tribulation as a squishy doughball, and came out a crispy-crusted loaf of bread."

"Thanks?" he worried, clapping the taller fox's back as he glanced up at the clothespin clipped to the overhead visor.

Before Judy had a chance to park the van, Nick reached up and grabbed not only the doodles but the clothespin as well, stuffing it all into his shirt pocket, "I'll hold onto those, you know, just in case."

"Okay, we're here long enough for me to change into fresh clothes and kiss my parents, and then we're out," she said, closing the windows and whispering, "Gid, this is something Nick and I have done a few times, so you stick with him and follow his lead."

Gideon hesitated, perhaps wondering what exactly they did in the ZPD, but nodded with an affirming grunt.  "Roger that," he said, cupping his mouth to do so.

"Alright, shuffle out, I need to stretch my legs," Nick insisted, shoo-ing the both of them.  When he had a chance to shake some feeling into his feet and arch his spine, "Please tell me you're fit to drive later," he said to the stouter fox.

"Hmm?" he grinned, "I dunno, I actually got some shuteye with her behind the wheel."

"Yeah, you wait until she takes off the velvet gloves, then you'll be  _ begging _ me to drive."

"C'mon, you two," she called after resetting the size adjustments to the driver's seat and locking the van, striding over to them, "Gid, the back is secure, right?"

"Oh, you betcha," the baker confirmed, accepting the keys and slipping them into a pocket, "Locked up tight."

"Good," she said and turned towards the farmhouse as she often remembered it, sitting amidst its grand fields like a humble beacon of familial safety.  Judy knew about the side-road which Gideon frequented whenever he visited and decided it a safer bet than the larger driveway, which the kitchen overlooked and lead to the main road where the rocks were picked up.

"So, I notice a few things," Nick began, following his partner with his cousin keeping pace.

"And what's that?" Judy humored, handing off the gate.

"Firstly, bunnies don't play outside at night much," he said about the empty yard which, only yesterday, was bustling with rabbit activity, “I mean, even in the city, they aren’t  _ completely _ nyctophobic.”

"We're not exactly an 'outside-at-night' kind of species," she explained, "It sounds like there's a 'secondly', and I daresay a 'thirdly' coming up."

"No 'thirdly' this time," he reported, "but since you mention it: secondly, whose very expensive car is that in the driveway?"

Judy peered through the darkness in the direction of his pointed finger, catching sight of a sleek, black  Roars Royce basking in the ambient light of the kitchen window.  "I… don't know?" She paused, ears upright and towards the house to catch any sound she could.

"Let's find out," Gideon prompted and ushered them both fully through the gate so he could close it behind him, "Back door or front?"

"Front door," she said, not whispering as much, and turning to face them both with a telltale swivel of her ears, "I want to warn the both of you right now because I don't know what to expect here.  The house is kinda empty, which is weird in of itself, but on top of that Grav's parents are in there with mine."

"Okay, we found out," Gideon said as he turned to leave.

"Do you know what they're saying?" Nick asked, grabbing the back of his cousin's shirt.

"It sounds like they're visiting and that's it," she explained, looking over her shoulder, "No raised or strained voices, just… visiting."

"Courage to the sticking place," he determined, and walked past Judy towards the patio in his casual, confident gait, sparing a smirk over his shoulder, "we certainly won't get anywhere by standing around, will we?"

* * *

The other two picked up the pace, such that Judy could be the first to reach the front door and properly introduce herself, "Hello!" she called out, clapping her feet on the welcome mat before hopping in.  Nick and Gideon followed suit, each ducking their heads enough to avoid a collision-induced headache, but did not greet in the same way. As she suspected, her parents, as well as Grav's, were sitting at the kitchen table.

"I told you I heard Judy," hushed Bonnie's voice after the soft scrape of wooden legs on tile, "Sweetheart, how're you feeling?"

"I didn't say you were wrong," responded Stu's voice, also followed by a similar scraping sound.

"You don't need to get up, Stu, I'm only fetching another cup," instructed Bonnie.  "And finish your turn, we're all waiting on you."

The three poked into the kitchen doorway, catching sight of the four rabbit occupants.  Bonnie was up at a cabinet, retrieving a cup as she said he would. Stu hovered over his chair, as though unsure whether he was standing or sitting; when he saw not only his daughter but the foxes, he rose fully to his feet with a broad smile.

"Well, hey you two!  I thought I heard her with guests.  What brings you 'round to the Hopps home?" he asked, and hastily followed up, "Not that you're not welcome, of course, you're always welcome here."

The other two bunnies were very well dressed, one a rotund male (who can't have been much older or younger than Stu), except mostly white with a generous splattering of dark coffee spots up his neck, over his head, and covering the bottom half of his ears.  The other was a butterscotch female with a black splotch across her eye and up her ear on the right side, wearing a modest (yet not necessarily humble) teal dress.

"I've been better, but it's been a crazy day, as I'm sure you know," she related, "Hi Uncle Magnus, Aunt Clea, it's good to see you both again.  These are my friends, Nick Wilde and Gideon Grey-"

"Judy," said 'Magnus', his voice commanding attention without demanding it, "You needn't be sorry in the least; if anything  _ I _ should be sorry for what happened to Bo."  He stood as he spoke and was actually a bit shorter than the average rabbit, but was of sturdy build and confident posture, which along with an unmistakable charisma, made him seem larger than his physical stature.  "I'm grateful that he's okay, but rest assured, Grav will not walk away from this unscathed. He's an adult after all, and will know the consequences of his actions."

_ I like this guy _ , Nick grimaced behind a polite, smiling mask,  _ I don't want to like this guy, but I do, and that makes me uneasy. _

"It's a good thing he wasn't crippled, you mean," Bonnie chided, getting in between him and her daughter, "Here you go, Judy, a few drops of cream and no sugar, just how you like it," she said, kissing her on the cheek and setting a cup of evening coffee into her grasp, "Now go get changed, you look like you crawled out of the washing machine."

"Thanks, Mom," she smirked, accepting the beverage with a reciprocated kiss and then a sip from the cup, "I won't be long, so don't have too much fun without me," she grinned, and slipped from the kitchen; not before kissing her Dad, of course.

"Would either of you boys like some coffee?" Bonnie continued, giving a cold shoulder to Magnus so to address the foxes, "I could make some tea for you, Gideon, of course, I know you don't care for coffee much."

"Thanks Mrs. H, but-"

"We would _love_ a hot drink," Nick interrupted with his most gracious grin.  Bonnie nodded and removed herself to prepare the offered favors.   _Bonnie doesn't care for Magnus and I don't blame her; I would not want to have known him when he was_ _younger_ , he speculated, _I thought Grav's dark eyes were something he cultivated himself but I can see where he got them, except daddy here hides them better._

"Nick  _ Wilde _ , was it?" Magnus smiled, presenting a handshake.

"Pleasures abound," the taller fox assured, grin unwavering as he reached for the greeting gesture but slipped past it to feel at the dark blue lapel and study its accompanying bright gold four-leaf-clover pin, "Where did you  _ ever _ find a  Ralph Lauroch dinner suit?  You've keen taste, Mr. Hopps, I must say."  He then firmly shook the presented paw.

"And you have a keen eye!  But please, call me 'Magnus'," he insisted, unwavering in his politeness, "Stu is the 'Mr. Hopps' on this farm, after all."

"A responsibility I take  _ very _ seriously," Stu affirmed, leaving the table to fetch more chairs, "It's your turn, Mag."

"In a minute, Stu, there are pleasantries I must attend to," he chuckled over his shoulder and then turned back, "And I already know about you, Mr. Gideon Grey," he grinned with another offered handshake, "It is a treat to finally see you face-to-face."

"Oh, 'Gideon's fine," he responded, grasping the paw and shake it, "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, though, since I only know you by name."

"Of course, how rude of me," he frowned, "Magnus and Clea Hopps, we're Grav's parents," he introduced, and then gestured to the sitting butterscotch lady-rabbit with a grin, beside whom he reclaimed his own seat.  With the new chairs in place, each fox sat at the table (and with everything bunny-sized as it was, looked more like very careful squatting and tail-tucking), in the middle of which was a cribbage board and its associated cards.

"I was  _ sure _ we had a box of tea in here  _ some _ where," worried Bonnie.

"It's okay, Mrs. H, you don't need-" Gideon tried.

"There's some out in the pantry, I won't be much more than a minute."

"Hold on there, Bon," Stu cautioned, "the pantry's spare storage right now, I won't have you moving that stuff by yourself."

"Oh, so it is, isn't it?" Bonnie recalled, and headed for a doorway;  _ en route _ , she set a mug of coffee on the table, "Here you go, Nick, you like it black, correct?"  He grabbed up the bunny-sized mug to toast her his gratitude and sip his affirmation.

"D'you two need any help?" offered Gideon, making to rise from his chair.

"Wouldn't dream of it," assured Stu, "You've had a long enough day without having to get your own tea.  Besides, we've got plenty of help around here, so there's no need for a guest to worry themselves. You two relax, we'll be back in a jiffy."

"C'mon, kids, pantry duty!" rang Bonnie's voice from out in the hall, along with a certain thumping of her foot, and what followed was the sparing scurry of feet and a vague affirming vocalization.  Of the kitchen's remaining occupants, only the taller fox seemed wary of the new situation.

_ I will need to confirm Judy's definition of "kinda empty" later…  _ wondered Nick.

"It's a delight to meet you both," Clea chimed in, presenting her paw across the table, to which either fox accepted in cordial greeting, "I'm only sorry it was under these circumstances.  As soon as we heard about Grav's mischief today, we came right over to set him straight. Please accept our deepest apologies for the trouble he caused," she lamented, and then addressed Nick specifically, "I understand you and Bo were accosted by Grav earlier in the afternoon?"

_ So, Phil really did call their parents.  There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with her, though; nice bunny, very proper, likely a regulating factor in this mateship _ , he pondered, "With all due respect, ma'am, my greater concern about Grav's behavior isn't his overt antagonism, troubling as it is," he began, and pulled out the clothespin from his shirt pocket to present the note, "but rather  _ this _ ."  He unfolded the "ka-poof!" doodle from Gideon's vat and held it out for them to see, "Is this familiar to either of you?"

Magnus's eyes went dark as pitch despite his patient smile but Clea's expression shifted to wry amusement.  "I can't say it is, Nick," she sweetly said, " _ Should _ it be?"

_ And we're done here _ , Nick decided and grinned his most sincere grin, as though his life depended on it.  "Only a trifling coincidence, then," he assured, snapping the paper back into a fold and tucking it away in his shirt pocket, "It was found after Grav was apprehended by Sheriff Longmare is all, right Gideon?"

"It might've been there the whole day for all we know," Gideon speculated aloud, deftly catching the cue, "My lot gets all kinds of trash blowing in sometimes; it's no big deal."

_ Careful, Bangs… _ Nick worried behind a shrugging smile, "I'm sure it's only a child's doodle, nothing more."   _ Shoot, not what I wanted to say. _

"Actually," chuckled Magnus, eyes still dark and smile still patient, "it  _ does _ remind me of a superstition from centuries ago.  Terribly archaic, though, no use for it in this day and age."

_ What I wouldn't give for a stampede of bunnies right about now _ , Nick fretted, sipping from his coffee, "You don't say?  I heard that hair from a goat's beard in your pocket brings good luck, perhaps it's something like that?"

"It's a bit more macabre," he corrected, "said to keep away witches and their terrible curses.  They were as real back then as plague and floods, you know."

"I'll admit, that's pretty creepy," said Gideon, sifting his fingers through the fur on his arm, but for the most part putting up a cheery front, "Good thing there aren't too many of  _ those _ flying about, huh?"

"Take it with a grain of salt, but it goes that if you mount a-" he began boisterously, paws around his own neck as though he were to pop his head off.

" _ Magnus! _ " scolded Clea, "That is by no means a topic of polite conversation."

"You're right, dear," he cast his smile aside for a ruing frown, paws folded on the table once again.

"Honestly, you're as bad as Grav sometimes," she chided, "What will I do with you both?"

His dark eyes dropped their severity with unnerving swiftness, "My apologies, boys, I can get carried away, sometimes, that's why I keep Clea nearby.  I hope I didn't upset you?"

_ Gideon, you're either frozen in shock or a braver fox than I could've ever expected of you _ , Nick considered, glancing from behind his coffee to the stiffly-seated pastry chef nearby.  He, himself, had years of experienced indifference to fall back on and a year's worth of police training to act as a buffer,  _ But Bangs is still figuring out the finer points of jostled composure. _

"Well," exhaled Gideon, claws digging into his own arm before relaxing, "It's a good thing we're civilized mammals, ain't it?  Those practices went out with the dark ages and not a moment too soon."

_ Bravo, cousin, you're learning from my stellar example.  If only you worked with Finnick and I back in Zootopia, we'd have given even Mr. Big a run for his money _ , mused Nick, genuinely feeling more at ease knowing that he could loosen his metaphorical grip on Gideon's paw,  _ Still, I know a veiled threat when I hear one and I'd bet my tail Clea didn't stop him for our sakes.   _ Thankfully, his ear flicked to the sounds of muffled voices from the hallway.

"I thought you threw those skis away, Bon?" asked Stu.

"They were a gift, Stu, what would I say to my brother when he finds out I got rid of them?" Bonnie answered.

"Mom, I'm sure you haven't skied since that one time," said Judy, "Uncle Terry will understand if you decide to donate them."  She entered into the kitchen, wearing a familiar pink shirt, and by the stitching in the right leg, the exact blue jeans from when they uncovered Bellwether's scheme.

And then Nick looked again; he saw that the shirt was actually a newer, deeper shade of pink, but the jeans were definitely the same.   _ Well _ , he considered,  _ I don't need any more red flags a-wavin' _ .  "Snow gear giving you trouble, Hoppses?" he grinned, craning his neck back to reference them while leaning in his chair.

"Be careful, Nick, you'll break your neck that way," Bonnie reprimanded, accepting the empty cup of coffee he offered up to her, "Will you three be staying for a bit of dinner or are you heading out again?"

_ Oh, bless you, Bonnie Hopps, an easy exit if ever there was one _ , "Though it was simply delightful, I'm afraid our visit must be cut short," lamented the taller fox, rising up from the table with a sorry smile, the stouter fox promptly following suit.

"That's a shame but we can't expect you young folk to stick around with that party going on at the fairgrounds," grinned Stu, "half the house is over there right now, ya'know."

"Gonna need a rain check on that cup of tea, Mrs. H."

"I'll be sure to have it ready by then but before you go, do take some food for the road," Bonnie assured, reaching up to stash the box in an overhead cabinet before walking over to the fridge to pull out a sizeable, easily recognizable plasticware.  She then walked over to where they both stood to hand off the leftovers and then leaned up to hug around their necks, touching a motherly kiss on either cheek. "You're always welcome at the Hopps house."

The three bid their goodbyes, even to some of the visiting relatives that poked in to see what was happening, and as they walked out to the nighttime yard Nick pointed at the container Gideon tucked under his arm, "Am I imagining things, or is that remarkably similar to what we're already toting around?"

"This?" he mused and held up the item in question, "Bonnie must have a million of these things because she keeps giving them to me filled with food.  I mean, it's awful sweet, but she won't accept 'em back and I don't wanna throw 'em away."

"So you have a king's ransom in plastic containers stashed in your bakery," recalled Nick.

"Mom buys them in bulk," shrugged the bunny, "Is that casserole or lasagna?"

"Casserole," he answered, peeking under the lid as he smirked, "What  _ kind _ ?"

"Hmm…" she pondered, "It's Sunday, special occasion… three-bean, with her secret carrot-and-zucchini sauce."

"Nail on the head, Jude," chuckled Gideon, and tucked the plasticware under his arm once again as he opened up the gate.

They returned to the bakery van, well beyond the yard and out of view from the house, when Judy turned to them and dropped the merry façade after a cursory ear-swivel.  "What  _ happened _ in there?" she asked, clearly upset but by no means furious, especially not at them.

"Grav's parents are as crazy he is," Nick yelled in a harsh whisper, pulling out the note and unfolding it to reveal the inside, " _ This _ is a fox's head mounted on a plaque!"

"Magnus almost said so himself before Clea stopped him," Gideon whispered, also in a harsh, muted yelling, "Grav sent these as a  _ threat _ !"

"Will you both calm down!" she harshly whispered right back, "We have no proof that these are death threats, except for a private conversation and a hunch.  Right now, we need to get over to the Sheriff Longmare and open up that investigation. If you want, we can discuss this on the way, but as it stands I need you both to not lose your heads!"

A dark, uncomfortable silence fell over them.

"I didn't mean it like that," Judy immediately apologized, her whispering less harsh as she looked at betrayed grimaces from either fox.

"He said it was a 'superstition', and by that clover on his lapel, I'd say it was one established by this 'House of Blessings' you bunnies are  _ so _ fond of," Nick accused, shifting his weight back with a paw to his hip.

"Did this kind of thing actually  _ happen _ ?" Gideon asked, though not out of curiosity, as evidenced by how his paws tried to wring the plasticware.

"Now hold up, that was centuries ago!" she tried.

"So it  _ did _ happen!" the baker nearly yelled, about launched from his fur.

"You know what, I think I just figured out what 'ka-poof!' stands for," Nick growled, "A ' _ homophone _ for the  _ acronym _ of the Correct And Proper Use Of-', and hold onto your hats for this one, ' _ Foxes _ '!"

Judy wavered, staring aghast at him.  "What,  _ no _ , that's not it!"

"I heard how Grav kept referring to Gideon and I like we were a useful thing to keep around," he continued and his voice shifted from accusation to desperate anger, "but best be careful not to keep  _ too  _ many of us!  Wouldn't want a  _ family  _ of foxes on the loose, ya'know.  Is there anything else in the Hexward Tenets we should know about?"

"Just  _ stop _ it!" she snapped, tears in her eyes, "I didn't write  _ those _ antiquated beliefs and I don't follow them!  I don't know a single bunny in Bunnyburrow that does.  But you want to talk about horrible superstitions? Larger mammals used to wear bunny feet as a good luck charm,” she revealed, letting the statement hang in the air, “The Hexward Tenets somehow put an end to that, by saying it luckier to have the rabbits still attached!

"Our histories are dark, Nick, darker than either of us know, but we can't hate each other because of it," she sobbed, "I didn't… I didn't know how much of it was still around, I hoped that love and trust won over the fear and hatred of the past.  But I can't change others; all I can do is love and trust and hope that others follow me in doing so."

Nick breathed slowly, still holding that shred of disdain but dropping it with a heavy sigh, "This is why I can't reason with the emotional, they always win.

"Look, I know you don't follow that  _ balderdash _ , Carrots, and I don't blame you because of what happened to foxes in the past.  But I need to know, what  _ exactly _ are we getting into here?  Are there foxes, right now, getting nailed to walls in the expectations that it'll keep away curses?  I… I don't expect you to know the answer to that, but I need you to understand that this new information… it's  _ terrifying _ , for a whole host of reasons that I'm sure you're already well aware of."

"Is Magnus going to come after us, now?" Gideon broke in, "That's what I wanna know about, because evil curses or not, he's  _ very _ real and doesn't seem the type to take it on the chin."

"Well," Judy sniffed, using her own sleeves and palms to clear her face, "I don't think he will.  He's powerful, sure, but my Dad is considered the Hopps patriarch out here and Mom's made it clear that you're both under their protection."  She then managed a smirk, "Remember how you said 'you never know when a bunny's listening'? That can go for other bunnies, too."

"This is sounding more and more like rabbit nobility," Nick scoffed, if playfully, "So, I think we've spent enough time losing our heads over losing our heads.  If everyone's head is securely fastened to their neck, let's not  _ lose _ any more time and  _ head _ over the sheriff's."

"Before we do that," Judy said, "I want to test that whipped cream."

"What?" both foxes nearly cried out.

"I need to know what we're getting into," she determined, "All we have to go on is that it either  _ is _ or  _ isn't _ poisonous to foxes," gesturing to Nick and Gideon, respectively, "and it makes Bo regurgitate; which, considering his physiology is something of an anomaly, doesn't help us much. "  She then pulled out a spoon from the bundle wrapped in napkins she acquired from her mother, "I'm the best chance we've got to find out what it's supposed to do. If anything goes wrong, call an ambulance and keep an eye on me back at the house until it arrives.  From there, you can open an official investigation while I'm in the hospital, being treated by some of the brightest medical minds of the Tri-Burrows."

"You sure about this, Jude?" worried Gideon, but to her affirming grunt, he pulled out the keys to his van.  He approached the back doors as if they led to the cage of a monster and slid the key in to unlock the latch, hesitantly opening only the one side with the vat waiting within.  The stouter fox continued, popping each fastener until the lid was removed and exchanged one plastic container for another. He turned about, holding it before him, and peeled open the seal of the deathly white concoction.

"You don't have to do this," Nick said.

"Don't you trust me, Slick?" she answered, and scooped up half-a-dollop that her spoon could hold, to which she toasted her fox friends with a brave smile, "See you on the other side."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Roars Royce" and "Ralph Lauroch" are even more puns for Zootopia, of Rolls Royce and Ralph Lauren, respectively.
> 
> Originally, this was the last chapter of Trustworthy (and first numbered 28, as opposed to 17). The next act, the original start of Brave, is perhaps one of my favorite parts of this story and I decided to bring it over to because it evened out the size of the two parts (Brave was twice the size of Trustworthy before I reformatted the chapters) and the cliffhanger here is, perhaps, better served as a marker of Acts.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The curtain rises on the final act  
> and we find that all is... 'eh... still intact?  
> Who are these we see and why are they here?  
> Are they the same characters we hold dear?  
> There is nowhere left but forward, my friend,  
> and see this play out to the very end.

Laverne Hopps was a lady of such distinguished character and high standing in the rabbit community, that her eccentricities endeared her  _ to _ rather than ostracized her  _ from _ fellow bunnies.  Few in the Burrow knew not of “The Silver Belle”; so named for the soft gray of her fur and the clear, heavenly voice which filled an already packed concert hall twice a week.  Fewer in the Burrow knew of “The Steel Horn”, however; a righteous clarion call which many in polite society would consider wholly improper and unbefitting someone of her station.

Lovey, as she was known by her nearest and dearest, awoke in the early morn of a performance day, a day that meant rigorous practice followed by an afternoon of rest.  First, was her favorite part of waking.

“Good morning, Miss,” chimed her housebunny, a portly auburn toting a breakfast tray with a covered plate and readied papers, setting it all on the bed before her mistress with the utmost care, “Rest well, I hope?”

“Soundly enough, Tillie,” Lovey said, arms stretched overhead and chest arched to work out the sleep, “mind abuzz with tonight, of course.”  Her violet eyes spake anticipation as dawn spilled through opened curtains upon a brown-wrapped parcel of papers.

Tillie became bashful when she returned to the bedside, “If it’s not too bold, Miss, I fully remember your telling that you’re to eat  _ before _ reading those,” the bunny-in-waiting reminded, and then lifted the cover from her mistress’s breakfast.

A relinquishing sigh loosed Lovey’s lips, “You’re quite right,” she agreed, and pulled a napkin from the tray to lie across her lap with a chuckle, “Without your vigilance, I’d wither away in a week’s time.”

Sharing in the jolly with her own giggle, Tillie’s eyes fell to the assortment of almond, raspberry, and cream porridge tarts on the breakfast tray.  They smelled delicious, and knew that the outer crust was warmed by piping hot innards; when they reached her mistress’s bed, they were the perfect temperature to eat inside-and-out.  “You’re a lucky bunny, Miss,” she said, pouring the tea, “to find the favor of two charming suitors as you do.”

“Now, that  _ is _ too bold,” Lovey mused.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Miss, it wasn’t my place.”  Tillie withdrew, hiding a smile as she readied the clothes of the day; with her mistress still in undergarments and no intention to leave the house until evening, the dutiful auburn bunny set aside a simple dress best suited for comfort yet nice enough to entertain a spontaneous guest.

Lovey savored the first bite of a tart, sinking her teeth into the warm, flaky crust and creamy filling; each morning a new batch of familiar yet unique pastries greeted her, and each time felt like discovering a brand new delicacy.  Washing down the tart with a sip of tea (though by no means did it  _ need _ washing down), she hastily grabbed up the unmarked parcel, for she knew what waited inside.  The twine and brown wrapping fell away to reveal handsome, artful writing but it was no resolved legal matter or intimate correspondence that relit her eyes as she read.

Tillie hopped closer, recognizing her mistress’s excitement and eager to share in it.  “Is that another song, Miss?” she asked, leaning on the bed a bit to get a better look.

With a soft sniff, Lovey wiped at the corner of her eye to nod.  “It is, Tillie, and it’s  _ divine _ ,” she cleared her throat after a stuttering breath, intent to regain ladylike composure, “He always does this to me, sending a new song  _ only _ on performance days.  As if I’d set aside the entire night for him…”

“Miss?”

“And he’s right,” she admitted, spreading the sheet music adjacent on the bed to finish her breakfast, but scanned it while humming around a mouthful of either tart or tea.

“He sounds like such a nice bunny to meet, that Nicolaus Wilde,” Tillie said, nodding to the signature on his prose as she lifted the tray away, “Shame about his mange, though, keeping him from society as it does.  It’s a good thing you can’t catch it from letters or else it’d keep his music away, too.”

“Yes…” Lovey concurred, gathering up the manuscript to lay it on her nightstand, and then crawled from bed to wash up and dress.

“But if I could, Miss, I’d want to know who makes you these sweeties each day,” she continued, setting the tray with great care near the sheet music, “I’ve asked that grocer who brings ‘em with the morning goods but being a fox, he can’t help but talk in riddles.”

“Tillie.”

“I’m sorry, Miss,” she bowed her head before reciting, “I know the bunny who sends ‘em doesn’t want to share his name, and it’s not the fox’s fault for keeping it a secret.”

“Well put,” Lovey nodded, stepping to the freshly-filled water bowl to wash her face, paws, and ears, “We rabbits have our way and the foxes have theirs; simple as that.”  Grabbing up the nearby towel, she then looked over to the breakfast tray and its gifts, especially to a flower acting as a decorative garnish: a single, yellow tulip. “Is Mr. Fox out in the garden?”

“Since the dark hours, Miss,” reported Tillie as she readied the dress, “And beggin’ another pardon, Miss, but it never sits right how he can move about the night as easily as he does.  Not a lantern or even the moon, but-”

“But he gets his work done, Tillie,” Lovey interrupted, adjusting the garment as the back was laced up, “His flowers are the envy of the neighborhood  _ and  _ the grocer’s produce is best in the Burrow, bar none.”  She then turned to her fluster-withheld housebunny and cupped a cheek, knowing full well that her view on foxes was as unique as her voice, “I’m sure my father will wake soon and would love his morning coffee and newspaper to greet him,” comforted the Silver Belle.

To this, Tillie softened, smiled, and curtseyed.  “A good morning, Miss,” she chimed, ducking past to collect the breakfast tray but not before setting Mr. Fox’s flower atop Mister Wilde’s manuscript, as she knew her mistress preferred.

With a new song to learn and perfect before the performance, Lovey had a great deal to do in the day ahead, yet she decided to spare another few minutes and sit upon her bay window overlooking the garden.  She cradled both song and flower in her lap to gaze out, admiring the handiwork of their diligent Mr. Fox; she walked the garden frequently but found it prettiest outside her window.

“The east end of the garden is best for flowers,” Mr. Fox would articulate, “Warmer mornings, cooler afternoons.”  And there was his tall, fire-red form, bent over to pull weeds with the utmost care so to not damage the adjacent blooms.  As expected of his species, no sooner did she catch sight of him than he scanned the garden, and then glanced up to her window.  Lovey smiled and gestured in greeting but he only spared a polite nod before casting his green eyes down again. She sighed in begrudging acceptance, fully knowing that if he was caught lingering on her for too long it could risk his livelihood, and depending who caught him, his  _ life _ .

 

* * *

 

Well into late-morning, Lovey remained in her music room with Mister Wilde’s latest work propped up on her piano.  There was no doubt that his prose was fit for royalty, and while it boasted a certain melody to its pacing and emphasis, it always needed refining to make a proper performance piece.  This was a task Lovey shouldered with grace, for it etched it upon her heart and so made a more exquisite song to sing. Charcoal pencil in grip, she placed music notes about inked words as a jeweler cuts a raw diamond; more often than not, her focus dismissed the outside world until satisfied.  There were times, of course, when a knock at the door interrupted deep concentration but ever the proper lady, Lovey permitted each intrusion cordially.

“Come in,” she bade, turning about on her piano bench to address what was either Tillie or her father but indeed, he was neither.  “Grav?” she wondered aloud, pivoting fully to face the debonair, butterscotch rabbit.

“Lovey, was our time apart so vast that my presence surprises you?” he asked, stepping into the music room, “Surely the years have not changed me  _ that  _ much.”

“Well, mayhaps you’re a  _ bit _ taller,” she noticed, watching his approach with amiability, “What brings you back from your worldly travels?”

“No more or less than I’ve seen what the world has to offer,” he grinned, and took a seat on the piano bench when she spared him space to do so, “but despite it all, I feel my soul yearn for the Burrow; so, it is here I return.”

“And many a story you’ve brought with you, no doubt,” she said, smoothing the dress over her knees, “Will you be in the Burrow long?”

“I should certainly think so,” he mused, “My soul is the Burrow’s but my  _ heart _ is home for a different reason entirely.  Lovey, I intend to woo a mate and settle a family.”

“I’m happy for you, Grav,” she commended and rest a paw upon his in familial gesture, “I should delight to meet this lucky bunny who earned your eye.”

“Well,” he paused with a hopeful smile and turned his palm up to cradle hers while the other rest atop, “You already know her better than anyone could.”

Lovey reeled in the most composed way she could, feeling her throat run dry and ears turn warm.  “Grav, I…”

“I understand it is quite a lot to comprehend at once…”

“It certainly  _ is _ , but…”

“A great deal of thought went into this, I must stress; this is no boyish bluster…”

She quickly pivoted away and tucked the paw against her stomach.  “I confess, you caught me quite off guard. You see, I have a performance tonight, and I am not in the mindset to decide on so important a matter.”

“I… I understand,” he admitted and sat up straight, back full to the piano with his paws on his knees, “Perhaps it  _ was  _ a boyish bluster, charging in here from out of the blue and asking you to commit without so much as a  _ hint  _ of my intentions.  I hope you can forgive such a foolhardy rabbit as I, who would forget so much etiquette in his travels.”

“If nothing else,” she consoled, glancing over her shoulder with paws folded in her lap, “I commend your pluck and daring.”  Lovey smiled, however, and turned to face the keys, “You’ve always been the brave one, your trip around the world is evidence to that.  While here I stay in the house I was born and raised, never chancing to see what else is out there.” Her fingers caressed the white-and-black keys and walked a gentle chord.

“And you were always the sensible one,” he answered in kind, likewise turning to face the keyboard to run his fingertips along it, daring to pluck a note or two before joining her in idle playing, “I’d not be half so blessed if not for you, Lovey.”  She did not respond except for a warm, grateful smile, which he accepted; spotting the music sheets, he studied them a moment longer. “My absence was longer than I realize, for I do not recognize this composer.”

“Oh,” paused Lovey, fingers lingering on the notes, “he is quite new.  I found his music completely by chance and was moved to sing it. In all my experience, I cannot recall a more passionate songwriter.  I receive the occasional piece and add it to my repertoire as appropriate; this one arrived only this morning.”

“Ah ha,” Grav realized, tugging at the cover page when he found it, “So  _ this _ is the mysterious ‘Nicolaus Wilde’ I heard from the household gossip.  Lovey, are you already spoken for?”

Despite her training and steely nerves, Lovey indeed wavered and withdrew her fingers from the black-and-white to steeple their tips.  “Ours is… a professional relationship,” she elaborated, “If you heard from the help, then you know poor Mister Wilde is not at liberty to show his face in public.”

“Yes, his is a tragic circumstance but of all  _ my _ stories overseas, I doubt one could match the intrigue as to how  _ you _ crossed paths with a mange-ridden composer,” Grav challenged, fingers still tapping along the piano.

“As I said,” she explained, adding dramatic keystrokes in the meanwhile, “‘Twas a chance meeting.  I began my singing career with childhood lullabies and Blessed hymns, done with all the flourish and passion I could muster.  After a time, however, I felt they were… I won’t say ‘lacking’, but I needed something no one’s heard before, to  _ truly  _ light the fire in their souls.  While composition was part of my training as a songstress, my pieces always had certain…”

“‘Lacking’?” he prompted.

“I needed inspiration,” she mused, “As it was, walking in the garden helps me think, so one day I walked somewhere new, letting luck guide my path.  After meandering quite a good deal, a sudden breeze whipped past me; with it were sheets of paper and a cry of dismay from an open window.”

“Those would be Mister Wilde’s songs, no doubt,” he observed, “but what an awful shock it must’ve been to discover his lot in life.”

“Quite so,” she lamented, “I knew I couldn’t go near him but you needn’t proximity to talk.  He was shy about his music at first, but since I had a few of his works in hand, I perused them and was amazed at how easily they accepted a melody.  I needed more of his songs, so I only gave back what I had on the condition that he would write more for me in the future.”

“How especially  _ sly _ of you,” Grav pointed out critically.

“Desperate times, I’m afraid,” Lovey admitted, “I could feel his longing for acceptance and I required new material; so how could I turn down what fortune thrust upon us both?  He need only see that and it would be the beginning of fruitful cooperation.” Lovey’s fingers continued to play all the while but hesitated at times in Grav’s accompaniment; he was playing the notes she wrote on the sheet music, and while he was in the wrong octave, the timing and notes were remarkably accurate.  Her only real concern was how he calmly, forcibly struck each key instead of caressing them. Every tone spoke of his severity from when they were children and it always seemed to set her on edge.

He finished with a soft, satisfied sigh.  “Well, Miss Laverne,” he said, and turned to her with a polite smile, “I shan’t keep you from your practice much longer, as I also heard that your preparations before a performance are  _ quite _ important.”

With a playful scoff, she reoccupied the vacancy left by his standing.  “No need for such formality,  _ Mister  _ Grav, I am still ‘Lovey’, through-and-through, but thank you for visiting.  We shall need to catch up, time permitting.”

A charming, smug smile crossed his lips as he stood upright and puffed out his chest.  “Pardon my impertinence, Lovey, but I am ‘Mister Grav’ no longer. As of my return to the Burrow, I am ‘ _ Sir _ Grav’, of the Blessed Court.”

“Oh!” she gasped, turning to face him once more, “You are a knight?”

“Quite so,” he teased, and dramatically took a knee, “For my ‘heroism overseas’ and ‘loyalty to the crown’; perhaps, my dear, I should have lead with  _ that _ bit of news.”

Lovey sat upright, as though to mimic royalty with a regal gesture towards him.  “Fancy it might have changed our answer,  _ Sir _ Grav?”

“I can only hope it would prompt you to consider it,” he replied, reaching up to cradle Lovey’s paw anew, and with a gentlerabbit’s kiss on the back thereof, so retested her composure.  He stood, “But let us start with lunch, and see where fortune takes us from there.”

“Oh, thank you, Grav,” she lamented, and gently withdrew from his loose grip, “but I cannot stop practicing now, and certainly not to eat.  When I am finished with this song to satisfaction, though, I would want nothing more than to join you for a meal.”

Though dejected, he nodded graciously.  “I understand. Your handbunny warned it would take a great deal to pry you from the piano,” he recalled, “and it’s clear to me that you are still the determined, beautiful bunny I know you to be.  When you are free again, Lovey, do call for me.” He bowed again, much more intimately, and left the room.

When the door closed and Grav’s footsteps fell from earshot, Lovey walked over and turned the key, as she often did on days that her concentration trumped all other issues.  Returning to the piano, she continued past it to the window cracked open and pushed the pane so to sit upon the sill while observing the northern side of the garden. “You truly are a credit to your species,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Forgive me, Miss,” the fox pleaded, sliding into view from behind the edge of the window, eyes still cast down and away, “I was merely pruning the ivy on this lattice but eavesdropped despite my full intentions not to.”

“You needn’t explain yourself,” she forgave with a kind smile, “What are your thoughts on the song thus far?  I rather hoped you were listening.”

He smiled and dared catch her eyes to whisper his answer, “It’s greater than I could ever dream.”

“What will you call this piece, other than ‘Nicolaus Wilde’s Unnamed Song, no. 48’?”

“Bless me, forty-eight…” he awed, “Has it truly been that many?”

“It would be a favor unto me if I can tell my appreciators and sponsors its title.”

“Forgive me, Miss Hopps, but I only-” he looked around, and whispered lower, “I only write the words; they are  _ your _ songs.”

“Nicolaus,” she sighed and shook her head with a patient smile, “how many times must I ask you to call me ‘Lovey’?”

The fox inclined his head politely, “At least once more, Miss Hopps,” he reminded.

She turned from the window to unseat herself and so hide a bashful smile, “Thank you for your time, Nicolaus, I cherish each moment we can spare to talk.”

“As do I, Miss Hopps.”

“And we both have our tasks to complete before too long.  When I finish practice, I would enjoy seeing the results of your pruning.”

“Of course, Miss Hopps,” he smiled.

It was mid-afternoon before Lovey satisfied herself with the newest piece; except for the title.  Lovey considered the validity of Nicolaus’s point, fingering the wooden grip of the charcoal pencil.  The songs belong to them both, after all, so perhaps naming them fell on her shoulders, not his _. _  It was time to put the bunny’s creative writing skills through their paces after relying so long on the fox’s brilliant prose, and throwing caution to the wind she christened the song with the first pondered title: “ If You Would Come With Me , by Nicolaus Wilde,” she read aloud, feeling a momentary rush of excitement at the decision.  Her eyes darted to a chest in the corner of her music room, wherein hid a lockbox securing the forty-seven other songs written by her groundskeeper and friend; would she have enough time before the performance to review each and title them appropriately?

“Perhaps another day,” she determined and gathered up the sheet music to bring it over to the hideaway for safe storage before approaching the window.  Despite her eagerness, she knew better than to call out the fox’s name, so she simply leaned over the sill and searched. Disappointed but understanding, she lamented his absence and took a moment to, instead, admire the ivy creeping up the lattice; she hadn’t realized how messy it looked before but after a thorough pruning it was remarkably tidier.  It also meant that she would find fresh ivy leaves garnishing meals, or in flower vases, and eventually, dried ivy leaves accenting the potpourri around the manor.

“A chance meeting…” Lovey wondered, sitting on the sill and swinging her legs out to look across the garden.  Barely visible through the surrounding hedge was Nicolaus’s shack with a wisp of smoke rising from the chimney.  It was the purest chance that she found his sheet music, caught on one of the rosebushes and fluttering in the breeze.   _ Forgive me for my falsehoods, Grav _ , she rued, heart heavy with guilt, but it was a burden gladly born, knowing that it kept her friend and his music alive.

It was not all false, though.  The lullabies and hymns were indeed beautiful, but also well known, and Lovey could feel that while her audience enjoyed her singing their excitement waned with each performance.  All attempts to write her own songs failed to stir even her own passion, knowing that the ditties she chimed throughout the day paled in comparison to the deep roots of familial or Blessed songs.  It was at that window, around that time of day when she spotted the errant piece of paper nearly two years prior; not since childhood had she hopped out a window and ran through the garden, but there was the tug at her curiosity which pulled her through and discarded her ladylike composure...

With great care, she retrieved the single sheet from the thorns and read it through.  Lovey could not remember the last time her heart was so moved by the written word, and with tearful eyes she swept the garden, hoping to find the author of such beauty.  Her keen ears discovered Mr. Fox hidden behind a shrub, trying in vain to maintain his grip on an armful of scattered papers. Too soon was her heart aloft with joy before it sunk with pity at the terror in his eyes; maybe he could explain the possession of one or two, but no less than a half-dozen sheets of handwritten paper was condemnation, or worse.

“Lose an eye for reading; lose a paw for writing.”

Though Lovey’s voice was “heavenly”, “angelic”, and “divine”, it was but one against tens-of-thousands believing that a fox’s pen scribed a curse.  So, she did what only she could and sang songs written by a fox, to the praise of those tens-of-thousands of bunnies; not to mock their wrong thinking, but because it was the right thing to do.

“Careful, Lovey,” interrupted Grav’s voice, “you wouldn’t want to fall out a window mere hours before your performance.”

“Oh!” she started, returning from her reverie to the butterscotch rabbit standing outside her music room’s window, “Yes, solid advice,” she chuckled, bracing against the wooden frame, “I didn’t think you the garden type, Grav.  What brings you to my little world of flowers and shrubs?”

“Well, you mentioned that a walk helps to clear your head, so I hoped it would do the same for me,” he said and held out his hand to aid her from the window sill.

“Indeed, sometimes I like to imagine that the smoke from Mr. Fox’s chimney becomes the clouds in the sky,” she said, nodding at the downy wisps, and then grinned, wondering if he would propose a third time should she accept his gesture, “However, I  _ can’t _ imagine what in this wide world could trouble such a stalwart knight as yourself.”

“Only hearsay and gossip,” he reported, one paw holding hers while the other braced her back as she hopped down, “Not that I endeavor in such things but I cannot help but overhear them, from time-to-time.”

“Thank you,” she said, and gently slid from his grip to present her best twirl, “And what sort of gossip do we hear from chasing housebunnies, Sir Grav?”

“Those days are long behind me,” he rued in good humor, putting his paws behind his back as she folded hers in front; the childish teasing was short and fun but his demeanor spoke of business as he walked towards her and down the garden path, to which she politely followed.  “Your singing career took off when I left for the sea, Lovey, I was shipped out mere hours before your first public performance; in all that time, I dreamed of nothing more than to see and hear you on stage. It was one of the few thoughts that kept me going. I daresay that half the world knows your name by now, how often I went on about ‘The Silver Belle’.

“As luck would have it, I returned the day after one of your performances and I hardly had a moment‘s respite since then, so I promised myself that I would be at your next performance, no matter what.  Well, in the evening I was knighted, I chanced upon a conversation amongst some of the higher lords in the Court, perhaps spurred by my plans to see you. Though I’ve not a shred of evidence to prove it, nor  _ any _ manner of specifics,” he leaned in to whisper, “I heard that Her Majesty entertained the notion of attending your concert.”

“By the Four-Leaf, the Blessed Queen…” she gasped, halting mid-step.

“Lovey?”

“I’m alright,” she assured, taking a breath and regaining her composure once more, “Pardon me, that was quite uncouth…”

“I can hardly blame you,” he endeared, “earning even her  _ notice _ is the height of fortune.”

“For any outside the Court, at least,” she teased, “Though it is hearsay, simply knowing that my voice reached the palace is blessing aplenty.  Come, we have a meal to honor and I’m quite famished,” she said, holding his arm as they walked to the kitchen through the garden. Lovey knew  _ she _ had a meal waiting for her, Tillie saw to that whenever a new song came in the morning; since Grav stayed as long as did, it was no great leap of logic that a meal awaited  _ him _ , as well.

 

* * *

 

Lo and behold, they were greeted in the dining room by two place settings and a smiling Tillie, “Good afternoon, Sir and Miss,” she chimed, perhaps brighter than that morning.

As Lovey approached her place at the table, he was quick to pull the chair out for her.  “Oh, thank you,” she acknowledged with a simple smile, tucking her dress beneath her legs and sitting back as he returned the seat.  Lovey caught sight of the muted, unmistakably happy sigh her bunny-in-waiting tried to hide; perhaps there was a benefit to having a young gentlerabbit like Sir Grav around if only to make her dear Tillie swoon with his ambient charm.

“Miss, not to disturb your appetite, but the grocer came around about an hour ago asking for you,” Tillie reported, “I told him you were not to be disturbed under any circumstances, and he seemed awful upset by it; I could tell because his tail sagged-”

“‘His tail’?” Grav interrupted, standing on the other side of the table, in the process of pulling out his own chair, “Is the grocer a  _ fox _ , Lovey?  That shaggy brute I saw skulking down the alleyway, perhaps.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, catching the suspicion in his tone, “there’s neither crime nor shame in that, despite the state of his fur.”

“ _ A _ fox around the household is good luck, but to have a  _ second  _ visiting does not bode well for your fortunes, Lovey,” he preached, “I had half-a-mind to drive him away when I saw him, were he not already leaving.”

“It was not merely a ‘visit’,” she corrected, “He must’ve forgotten the day of his voice lessons, is all; nothing more.”

“That fox is your  _ pupil _ ?”

“Enough,” declared the Steel Horn, standing from her seat to set her gaze, “The grocer suffers from a debilitating stutter and incoherently accented speech, both of which I have substantially improved by my tutelage,” she rebutted and continued justly, “It’s said that the masters of a craft are those who can teach it to the simplest students, and I daresay I could have him reading poetry to the gentry if given enough time.”

A deathly disquiet fell across the dining table, which Grav broke with a calm, dark tone, “And how, pray tell, could a fox  _ read _ poetry?”

She stood for an unwavering beat but then drew back her righteous front to the ladylike composure she wore so exquisitely, “Forgive me, Sir Grav; I oversimplified.  He would  _ recite  _ from memory a poem that  _ I _ read to him.”

“Which he would recite, more likely than not, to the gentry’s  _ children _ or  _ guests _ ; as entertainment.”

“Undoubtedly,” she conceded through a clenched jaw, sitting back down to lay a napkin across her lap; he followed suit, awaiting the arrival of a warm, liquid meal contrasting the cold, stony silence.

Half-way through their tomato, celery, and rice soup, his eyes cast up to her with head bowed; a gesture unbefitting a knight of the Blessed Court but apt for a boy caught in his own bluster.  “It is  _ I _ who must ask forgiveness, Lovey,” Grav finally said, “I’ve been too far asea to remember quiet life in the Burrow.  My eyes and ears bore witness to horrific displays of savagery and wickedness, that I scarce believe peace  _ can _ reign behind these hallowed gates.  Too many of my fellows fell to the slyness and trickery of foxes, Lovey, for their script is some of the most sinister machinations known.”

She quietly sipped, listening to him talk, and when a pause lingered enough, she responded, “Sir Grav, my daring knight, we needn’t fear dark magics and curses under the protection of the Her Majesty, the Blessed Queen; we must remain vigilant, of course, for it is during complacency that evil strikes the fiercest.  However, in my heart-of-hearts, I do not believe a fox is evil because they are a fox.”

He looked to her, and then down to his soup, which he stirred idly for a minute before his back straightened and shoulders squared, “It’s truly remarkable how so much can change and yet stay the same.”  He continued at her questioning glance, “From the smallest bird to the gruffest fox, you’ve always loved and cared for the less fortunate, even as a young girl.”

Lovey set her spoon down with a soft smile.  “And you’ve always been the vanguard. I knew I was safe with you around and that holds true today.”

The warmth of the soup thawed the chill in both of them as they finished their respective bowls.  “Thank you,” he said after the dishes were removed.

“You’re quite welcome,” she responded, and smiled amiably, “What for, though?”

“Too many to count.  For the time being, I am grateful for the afternoon together, rough waters notwithstanding.”

“It was delightful, all things considered,” she agreed, rising from her seat, and he followed suit, “Shall I see you tonight in the audience?”

“No force shall keep me away, Lovey.”

“Splendid.  Doors close at a quarter-to-eight  _ sharp _ ; do not be late.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he mused.

Lovey saw him out to the front door and bid him a fond farewell, and while she was happy to see her childhood friend after so many years apart, his company always left her with an uneasiness she could never quite explain.  So, once again, she traversed the hallways to her music room, remembering that not only had she left her charcoal pencil on the piano, but locked the door and exited out the window. In a wholly unladylike manner, she leaned forward until her head dully thunked against the wood with a frustrated groan at yet  _ another _ delay.

“Miss Hopps?” whispered a voice beyond the threshold, so low that were it not for her keen ears nearly pressed to the wood, she would not have heard it.

“Nicolaus?” she whispered back and soon recognized the swift, quiet turning of the key.  A bright green eye peeked through the crack in the door before she slipped inside. “What a stroke of luck,” she smiled as he closed and locked the door, “But, why are you in here?”

He turned to face her, eyes glancing up to the open window and stepping aside so he was not in direct view of it.  Nicolaus then pulled out a square envelope. “This is from Big Gid,” he hushed, “He was eager to give it to you directly, but your visitor prevented that, but then the open window allowed me to set it on your piano so you might find it later.  I nearly jumped from my fur when the door handle rattled.”

“From Big Gid?” she wondered and stepped out of direct view from the window to accept the missive.  The grocer was known by bunnies as “Mr. Fox”, same as Nicolaus and every other tod in the Burrow, but by his own kind as “Big Gid” for his substantial height and girth.  She untucked the paper flap to pull out a single card covered in a careful, albeit messy scrawl:

I thank you,

Miss Hopps.

Big Gid

Lovey was struck silent and were it not for Nicolaus’s quick ushering into a chair, she would certainly have collapsed to the floor.  Tears streamed from her eyes as she tried to reread the note, cupping a trembling, proud smile.

What began with an incoherent greeting and a cordial correction, lead to weekly speech lessons tucked away in a hidden alcove of the garden.  So ambitious was her dear pupil to learn, and so just was she to do right in the face of wrong, that she willingly committed the cardinal sin of the Burrow: she taught a fox to read and write.

Cradling to her bosom the simple token of gratitude brought at such great peril, Lovey managed to speak around a choked sob, “He wrote his first sentence with neither aid nor prompting, to thank me, and even signed his own name,” she marveled, though it was more than plenty that he baked the most delicious pastries every morning for her, “Truly, I could not be more blessed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might recall from the previous notes, the last chapter originally finished off Trustworthy but there was another chapter still related to what's happening here. It sat unfinished for the longest time and not until then did I realize that, at the time, "Trustworthy" was finished and ended it with the cliffhanger; and now, years later, I better understand that there was still more to tell. Ironic, 'eh?
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-dih-dee, hey-dih-doh  
> Let me tell you what you should know  
> Listen close, the import's strong  
> that if you should plan to get along,  
> with ev'ryone you see in here,  
> Then there's something to hold dear.  
> Watch out for fangs and claws, be sure,  
> but there's something worse to endure!  
> Those silver tongues behind the teeth  
> and what the claws write beneath  
> won't heal or go away or stop with you  
> but curse each child and chum; it's true!  
> So guard your heart, my friend, from hexes  
> and tell the Court if a preds' eyes vexes.  
> It's lucky if that's all you need to know.  
> Hey-dee-die, hey-dee-doh-dee-doh

At half-past seven in the evening, the concert hall boasted not a single empty seat for Laverne Hopps’s performance; save one, whose intended occupant was, in fact, backstage visiting with the starlet.  Normally, none were allowed to entreat behind the curtain with the looming start of a show, but Grav was, as he always would be, a charismatic rabbit with a talent to sway the opinion of any he met; save one, whose dressing room he so happened to be visiting.

He sat patiently behind a privacy screen while Lovey perched poised at her vanity, relaxing in her undergarments as a vixen groomed her fur with doting attention.

“If you wanted another seat for this friend of yours, then you should have had the foresight to purchase a second ticket beforehand,” Lovey chided; kindly so.

“I’m not asking for another seat, my dear, I know full well it’s a sold-out house,” he responded, “It’s simply that this friend of mine, whom I trust with my life, was not fortunate enough to get a ticket for tonight, and he so yearns to see you perform; perhaps because of all I had to say about your stellar voice during my time overseas.”

“So what, exactly,  _ are _ you asking?” she wondered aloud, “I might recommend against sharing the seat, as it would be dreadfully uncomfortable and unbecoming for the both of you.”

“Nothing of the sort.  All I ask is for the opportunity to watch your performance from behind the curtain, even if it means I would not sit the entire show; so that my friend may get this rare chance to see and hear you on stage.”

“Quite doubtful; the producer is frightfully strict…”

“Oh,  _ not _ a worry there,” chuckled Grav, “I’ve already acquired Mister Earwicket’s permission to watch from backstage, all he requested in return was your go-ahead on the matter.”

Lovey halted a brush to peer over her shoulder at the privacy screen and the rabbit it hid.  “I might be ‘The Silver Belle’ but I daresay you’ve earned the title of ‘The Silver Tongue’,” she teased, and turned back to her groomer to share a secret grin and released the brush, “Do be careful, Sir Grav, slyness is a fox’s forte, after all.”

“My intentions are  _ wholly _ altruistic,” he insisted, “In this way, I can keep the promise to myself and you, while also granting the wish of a close friend and confidante.”

“In that case, I cannot deny such charity,” Lovey endeared, “Consider my ‘go-ahead’ granted.  Do keep in mind that I require absolute silence from backstage while I perform; the acoustics of this theatre is precarious to the complacent, and could cause the oddest, most random noises.”

He softly grunted in affirmation and contemplation, “It does bring to mind why you opt for this… out-of-the-way establishment.  Isn’t there a closer, larger, more modern concert hall nearer your father’s manor?”

The groomer pulled back to study the next step of the process, and then picked up the fur-powder to run its fine-haired bristles across Lovey’s cheeks, chin, brow, neck, chest, and ears.  “It’s also twice as expensive, exclusive, and more executive. My concerts are for the lower classes as well as the nobility, Sir Grav; the seats in this theatre are affordable by far, and while the producer  _ is _ strict, he is understanding, as well.  I have a rapport with the stage crew here.  I consider myself quite lucky to be managed by such capable hands.”  She smiled up to the vixen’s reflection, which spared a quiet smile in kind.

“At the risk of overstepping, Lovey, as I am a guest here, it is a wonder you have any luck left at all.  I counted no less than  _ five _ foxes, including your groomer, involved in this production,” he critiqued, “Should one more wander in through the door, I wouldn’t be surprised if the building collapsed in on itself.”

“Your humor always needed refinement,” she responded with some degree of coldness, eyes closed as a soft brush applied makeup to her lids, “Fret not, plucky knight, as I am safeguarded from such misfortune: if a sixth fox should find their way backstage, then a  _ seventh _ fox is all that’s needed to harmonize the hall’s luck.  A simple task, Sir Grav, since there is a fox skulking behind every tree and corner, is there not?”

Pausing for a solid minute before he spake, Lovey could almost hear his clenched jaw, “Touché, Lovey.”

The rubbing together of her lips after an application of a vivifying lip-balm was all which sounded before she asked, “Will you introduce this friend of yours after the performance?  I do enjoy meeting my appreciators.”

“Certainly.  I don’t suppose you would be too preoccupied afterward to meet for a late coffee?” suggested Grav.

“If I do, my father will need to act as a chaperone,” she said with a sigh, “It wouldn’t do for a young lady like me to partake in the company of two, strapping young gentlerabbits.”

“Far be it for the likes of us to deviate from societal convention.”

“Speaking of,” reminded the Silver Belle, and dared an unseen wryness, “perhaps you’ve tarried in my dressing room a bit long, Sir Knight.  Imagine the conclusions if anyone knew.”

“Quite right,” he stood from his seat and walked along the privacy screen to the door with the soft click of a pocket watch, “Twenty-til-eight, time enough to get my friend seated.  Lovey, Mrs. Fox, faretheewell.”

“Grav,” she said to halt the door ajar, “You may ask for a chair from one of the stagehands.  We do set aside one or two for unique circumstances.”

“You have my deepest gratitude, Lovey,” he responded, and the door closed.

His footsteps faded from earshot before Mrs. Fox hushed, “You’ve the patience of a saint, Miss Hopps, I’d not spend a mote longer than needed in any company  _ he _ keeps.”

“Now now, Sissy, for the past ten minutes,  _ we _ were the company he kept,” teased Lovey, “Regardless, Grav was never the type to associate with others of his own disposition; if I know his habits as I think I do, this ‘confidante’ is a simple strongarm contented to provide mute support.”

“You’re a braver lady than I, Miss Hopps,” the vixen cooed, “It’s a mighty good thing your Pa will be there,” and finished off her handiwork by applying a light spritz of lavender perfume.  “Word has it there’s a new song by Mister Wilde tonight,” she gleed in modest anticipation.

“It’s his best so far,” Lovey chimed after turning her face to admire the artisanry; the entirety of the procedure did little to mask, but rather emphasized her natural radiance.  She stood as ‘Sissy’ fetched the underdress, “and even has the honor to be our first  _ named  _ song.”

“Oh!” gasped the vixen, and pooled the underdress for the starlet to step into, “Nicolaus finally broke down and named a song, did he?  It’s about time if you ask me.” She was smiling, though, pulling and lacing up the light, white garment as Lovey adjusted it on her torso.

“In honesty, ‘twas I who christened it;  If You Would Come With Me ,” the bunny said bashfully.

“Bless me, that’s beautiful, Miss Hopps.”

“Not a tenth as beautiful as the song, but I tried,” she mused, “Please let the costumers know that I’m ready for the dress,” and then whispered, “and ask for a check on both audiences.”  With a curtsey, Sissy swiftly strode from the room and out the door, leaving Lovey alone with her thoughts at the quarter-hour mark before the performance, thus, she could run her voice exercises undisturbed and placate her conscience.  Too often that day was she burdened with the guilt of lying through omission because the fact of the matter was, that there were plenty more than five or even  _ six _ foxes within the concert hall that evening.  Indeed, there must have been nearly a hundred hidden beneath and behind the very stage.

It was her truer purpose for the “out-of-the-way”, “cheap” establishment which frequented her performances; to not only sing for the lower class bunnies of the Burrow, but for the even  _ lower _ class of the fox population.  Secreted in after the doors closed and secreted out during the encore (which she did every night), known only by a most trusted assortment, from the producer on down to the ushers.  It was a great risk, but those involved knew it and took it gladly.

The time was nigh.  She fled the privacy of her dressing room to the staging area behind the curtain. The dress, newly commissioned by one of her sponsors so that they could claim it adorned the Silver Belle, was lowered down and secured by costumers.  As a final touch, her throat was spritzed with a bay leaf tincture to soothe it.

“You look beautiful, Miss,” awed one of the stagehands.

“Thank you,” Lovey said, curtseying to them and the whole of the crew, both bunny and fox alike before she turned to head out on stage.  Beyond the heavy, scarlet curtain she could hear the instrumental piece which introduced the concert. She turned her attention to Grav, seated at the other end of the stage well beyond the edge of the curtain, and smiled.  As it rose, Lovey breathed in the applause.

 

* * *

 

At nine o'clock, after her encore and bows, the curtain dropped upon a bed of flowers thrown from the audience.  Lovey breathed a satisfied sigh as she approached her awaiting friend, who stood with a quiet, eager applause still in force.

“ _ Brava _ , Lovey, an exquisite performance,” he praised, and then folded his paws behind his back respectfully, “I was almost moved to tears several times during it.”

“I’m honored you approve,” she responded with a warm smile and a hushed tone.

“Lovey, my dear, is something a matter with your voice?”

“I speak less to reduce the strain after performances,” she succinctly explained.

“I see…” he frowned, “Perhaps another evening better suits our introductions?”

“Not at all,” she insisted, “I shall be able to talk freely within the hour.  Come by my father’s manor at ten-o’clock, we shall catch up properly.” Lovey then smirked as she walked past him and deeper backstage, “Also, it’s worth noting that punctuality admonishes the overly early, as well as the late.  Until then, good knight.”

In the sanctum of her dressing room, Lovey allowed herself relaxation.  The stunning dress was carefully stored in a wardrobe (it would need several more wearings before it could be auctioned for charity), adulations from the stage crew abound, and Sissy had removed the makeup.

“Knock knock,” came an older, jovial voice from the door with an accompanying strike of knuckles on wood, “Are you decent, Lovebird?”

Lovey’s smile spread as she drew from a reserve of energy to stand and garb herself in a robe, with the patient assistance of Sissy, “Yes, Daddy, come in, please,” she bade, though quietly still.

So entered Master Hopps; an upper-middle-class merchant, plump and well-groomed with a taste for attire that straddled the line of extravagant and utilitarian.  “One of these days, I will meet this ‘Nicolaus Wilde’ you’ve kept so far hidden,” he declared with a wide grin, “I don’t care if he’s perpetually  _ ablaze _ , I would shake his paw on account of his brilliance.  Your mother wept tears of reverence the  _ whole  _ song through.”

“Is Mum still meeting with the sponsors, then?” she asked, noting her absence.

“Oh, you know your mother, she has a way with them I couldn’t hope to match,” he chuckled, “She shouldn’t be too much longer now, so you get dressed and we’ll head on home.  You’ve earned yourself a solid sleep after that performance, Lovebird.”

“Actually, Daddy, I have on more visit scheduled before I can retire for the night,” she explained, “Sir Grav insists on introducing me to a friend whom he gave up his seat for.”

“Well, now why’d he go and do a thing like that?” wondered the patriarch.

“It sounded last minute, but I cannot help but think he wanted to see my performance from backstage,” Lovey postulated, “I only agreed on the condition that you would chaperone the meeting.”

“Lovebird, are you finally choosing a suitor?” he hoped.

“Daddy…” she sighed, “This isn’t a courtship, it’s a friendly visit.”

“You know I only want what’s best for you,” he assured, and cradled her paws in his, “And  _ I _ know your singing will always come first, as it should.  What I mean to say is, decisiveness was always your strong point, Lovebird, so you need to decide to whom or even  _ if  _ you will mate.  We males might be stone on the outside, but it is warm putty on the inside, which bruises a lot easier than we let on.”

“You don’t suppose I… that I might be a bit of a  _ tease _ do you?” she asked, voice still low but more to mirror her introspection, immediately recalling Grav’s earlier nigh-proposal.

“I say this as your father, Lovebird, but you already have three young bucks vying for your favor, with a fourth soon introduced,” he explained with a grin, “Don’t be surprised if this ‘friendly visit’ turns competitive.”

“ _ ‘Three’ _ ?” she reeled, voice higher than she wanted it to go as her ears pinned back and burned hot, “Daddy, Mister Wilde, he’s… you know why we can’t be, and the  _ baker _ , what he sends me each morning aren’t…”

Master Hopps merely canted his head and quirked a brow.

“Oh my lucky stars, I  _ am _ a tease…” she muttered and sat back in the chair to loosely cover her mouth in mild shock.  “Have I been blind this whole time?”

“You’ve been innocent,” he chuckled, stepping forward to bend over and cradle her head into a kiss on the brow, “Don’t spend too long surprised at yourself; us old bunnies don’t stay up as long as the young.  Mrs. Fox,” smiled the paternal rabbit with a tip of his top hat, and turned back towards the door.

The vixen dared a sly grin when he left and glided with an impeccable step to where Lovey gawked at her own reflection.  She took up a brush to idly run its bristles through the bunny’s fur, “I always did like that Master Hopps, such an honest rabbit,” she cooed, and lightly grunted in curiosity, “He’d shake hands with a burning mangy, but what would one suppose about the fox tending his gardens?”

“Can a tease be unknowing, Sissy?” Lovey postulated, “How many suitors have I spurned in willful ignorance…”

“I wouldn’t say ‘ignorant’, you’re dedicated to your passion, is all; no shame in that.”

“But?”

“Well, by my count, five gentlerabbits-”

“ _ Five _ ,” gasped Lovey, head falling back and ears draping behind the chair, staring up into the rafters, and then at Sissy, “Whatever am I to do with myself if I’m none the wiser of  _ five _ suitors?”

“Regrets, have we?” teased the vixen.

“Only that I am not as vigilant as I believe myself to be,” she sighed and sat up, her ladylike elegance returning in posture and tone as she untied her dressing robe to step out, “‘It is during complacency that evil strikes its fiercest’, and though I am watchful to the needs of those around me it  _ is _ at some minor detriment to myself.  Daddy is absolutely correct, I must practice conscientiousness with my allocated affections,” Lovey determined and raised her arms as Sissy slipped the evening dress over her to lace it up.

“Confidence becomes you,” observed the vixen, and stooped to embrace her, “Those boys won’t know what hit them, will they.”

“I hardly know myself,” Lovey admitted, and leaned back into her sororal vixen to glance up, “Any advice?”

Sissy smiled back, “Let your heart do the thinking in matters of love; it’ll know what’s what.”

The bunny scoffed playfully, “That is  _ hardly _ sound advice.”

“Oh, it’s soundness you want, is it?  Then discard all matters to do with courting males; you can’t go wrong,” she smirked.

“You’re unhelpful.”

“And you’re fussy,” critiqued the vixen, tucking in to nip at her cheek and grab her sides, eliciting a muffled giggle from the rabbit.  Sissy released her prey after receiving a few downy, unladylike swats, and stepped back to speak, “Have it your way, I advise this: Sir Grav’s cohort is a large, simple-looking chap, I caught a glimpse of him earlier, but don’t let his appearance fool you.”

“Have you met him before?”

“No, never have, but… call it ‘vixen’s intuition’,” she reported with a wink.

“Ever a riddle when a straight answer would suffice,” Lovey giggled and departed for the door.

“It’s no fun if you don’t figure it out for yourself,” chimed Sissy, and began cleaning up the dressing room.

Lovey pulled her shawl from a corner of the privacy screen and draped it across her shoulders, sneaking a fanciful twirl in her step as she closed the door, and then scanned up and down the hallway.  Her ears caught the presence of her parents before her eyes and whisked herself away with a loftiness she hadn’t dared to explore prior to that night. The idea of courting always seemed a young girl’s dream or a young lady’s prerogative, yet she perpetually betwixt the two; it would figure that her father, of all bunnies, would be the one to pull her head from the ground and toss it into the clouds.  Lovey’s parents waited at the back door, Madam Hopps rising from a chair as Master Hopps turned to smile at his daughter.

“ _ There _ you are,” sighed Madam Hopps, “was your voice giving you trouble again?  It likely  _ was _ , you sang with such passion tonight, how could it not…”  Idly fretting, she approached and tightly touched on the songstress’s throat, as though she might diagnose any ailment through fingers alone, and then brushed whatever stray strands of fur from her daughter’s purple eyes.  A smile spread over her face regardless as she cupped Lovey’s patiently smirking cheeks, “Mind me not, my Love, I can’t help but marvel how lucky I am to even know you, much less be your mother.”

“You must be truly enamored with the new song,” Lovey suggested wryly.

“And you’ll do well to watch that sly tongue, Laverne; else one might conclude you’re in the habit of keeping foxes’ company.”

“I’m sorry, Mum,” Lovey lamented.  She knew her mother did not disapprove of her easy association with the crimson predators, but rather endeavored first-and-foremost that she, at all times, act with proper etiquette and manners; so, Lovey straightened up to the ladylike composure with which she was taught.  “My voice  _ is _ recovering quicker, I find.”

“Yes, I quite noticed,” she replied in subtle gratitude and appreciation, “When you began, it wasn’t until the morn that you could speak again.”  With gentle ushering, Lovey was guided out into the evening, going down the steps from the stage door as her mother and father joined arms and followed her to their vehicle.  It was Master Hopps’s most favorite material possession, the latest in technology for the Burrow: a motorized carriage. “Your father looks for any chance to operate it,” she observed, tone mixed with adoration and critique, “We can likely walk home by the time it takes to navigate outside the residential district.”

“It’s no less than the future itself.  What a fool I’d be not to practice whenever possible,” he boasted.

The first step to starting a motorized carriage, as Master Hopps was prompt to point out, was to assist one’s mate (and any available offspring) into the passenger’s seat.  In the event of a competent and trusted mate, such as Madam Hopps, he would assist her behind the driver’s wheel to hold the choke and turn on the ignition at each appropriate pull of the crank (Lovey enjoyed watching them work in their unspoken tandem).  With goggles and other such protective attire in place, the three were off to the manor with a mechanical growl; amidst the muted din, the maternal bunny leaned over to address her daughter.

“Did Mrs. Fox use a new powder for tonight?” Madam Hopps asked, “Your fur had a certain shine to it I found quite stunning.”

“Oh yes, it’s an experimental mixture with seashells, to give the illusion of sparkling stars,” Lovey answered.

“That vixen works wonders on you, my Love,” she dared a grinned with all her supreme ladylike composure, but added with a sigh, “If only there was some way to distill that becoming confidence from otherwise uncouth mannerisms.”

“Come now,” interjected Master Hopps, “it’s a give-and-take like any good trader knows.  Our Lovebird might be a  _ little _ sly, but I’ve noticed some proper etiquette rubbing off on that Mrs. Fox, as well.”

“Mayhaps,” conceded the mother bunny, “After all, both the gardener and the grocer enunciate exquisitely, thanks to dutiful tutelage.”  She smiled daintily but proudly with a gesture to Lovey.

“I am merely the conduit for their personal betterment, Mum.  After all, I could not teach them if they were not willing to learn.”

“Spoken like a true lady,” beamed Madam Hopps in her refined way, and touched under her daughter’s chin to kiss her cheek.  “I heard from your father that we are entertaining visitors tonight.”

“Yes, Sir Grav and a yet unnamed friend of his,” Lovey answered, “a discrepancy to be remedied when foremost and proper introductions are made.”

“And your father will be chaperoning?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Then I haven’t a thing to worry about,” she concluded sincerely, settling back into the vehicle’s seat to idly watch the passing buildings of the business district.  Though taken aback by such nonchalant acceptance from her mother, Lovey decided not to stir the pot and savor what leeway she could get on the matter; her father, too, seemed relieved by the development.

Though her eyesight was ill-suited for the night, Lovey observed some nocturnal laboring of foxes, often wondering which of them attended her concerts, and where they went during the day (there seemed so many more with the streetlamps lit than otherwise).  Their reddish, brown, orange, and gray furs melted into shadows beyond the lamplight aura; she frequently caught herself gawking behind her goggles at shapes shifting in the dark. It was such times which reminded her of a biological fear held by all bunnies… which in turn reminded her of her mother’s lessons  _ against _ such unladylike behavior as “biological fear”; they were civilized mammals, after all, and so should act accordingly.

At the manor, after Master Hopps came to a full and complete stop under a fairly recent addition in the form of an overhang, Madam Hopps and Lovey joined the patriarch in discarding their motorist’s gear for storage in the convenience of a glove compartment.  “The experience improves with each drive. Wouldn't you agree, my dear?” he grinned, assisting his mate from the vehicle while Lovey helped herself out the other side.

“I wouldn’t say ‘improves’, but it does refrain from worsening,” she compromised, and followed her mate on his arm as they traversed the front of the motorized carriage.  “Laverne, you  _ must  _ learn patience if you intend to court,” the matriarch reprimanded, to which her daughter looked up in some degree of confusion.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mum, I suppose I am a bit distracted,” she explained, though figured that at her own home, she could manage to dismount a stationary vehicle by herself.

“It is a matter of consistency,” explained Madam Hopps as they walked up to the front door, held open by Master Hopps, “If you accept a gentlerabbit’s assistance  _ into _ your seat, you should accept his assistance  _ out _ of it.”

“You needn’t be so harsh on her,” he chided with a jovial air, assisted from his jacket by a prompt footrabbit, “Either treat her like a lady or treat her as a girl, but not both.  Besides, a polite turn of the chair often depends on the gentlerabbit, does it not?”

“Yes, that  _ is _ true,” she agreed and addressed to her daughter after divesting her own coat to a parlorbunny, “Your father’s right, my Love, I’ve taught you all I can on etiquette and poise but ultimately, it’s your decision on how you are a lady.  Perhaps I worry too much about matters not my own,” she added with a sigh.

Lovey draped her shawl over an arm and approached.  “Mum, you only want what’s best for me, as does Daddy.  You wouldn’t correct me if you didn’t sincerely believe it was for my betterment.”

“Spoken like a true lady,” Madam Hopps repeated humbly, “Now, go freshen up for your guests.  I’ll speak with the chef about some fresh coffee and cakes,” she continued, turning to the butler as she walked from the foray and towards the kitchen, “Have the parlor done up for four, and find Mr. Fox, I think some of that fresh ivy will do some good tonight…” her voice trailed off as she disappeared down the hall.

“What time are they due?” asked Master Hopps as he pulled out a pocket watch.

“Ten-o’clock, although Grav has a tendency to show up earlier than is necessary,” replied Lovey, standing at a mirror near the door to smooth any fur misplaced from the drive.  “Freshened up” to satisfaction, she smiled and faced her father.

“A tad more than a quarter-hour before then,” he reported, snapping his watch shut, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if we settled in.”

“You didn’t happen to see this mysterious friend of Sir Grav’s in the audience, did you?” she asked, joining the older rabbit as they walked down the hallway.

“Let me see now,” he considered with a rub of his chin, “I thought I saw another young male speaking with Sir Grav before the performance, but to say whether it was him or not would be presumptuous.  No doubt a fellow from his overseas adventures, though.”

“Quite so,” conceded Lovey, and entered through the parlor door held open by her father, “That might very well have been his friend he spoke with; Sir Grav was never the type for mingling if he could help it.  Do you recall their conversation casual or formal?”

“Lovebird, I admit my mind was more on your concert than the idle chit-chat of other concert-goers,” chuckled Master Hopps as he followed his daughter to a prepared table and joined her on the sofa facing two armchairs, “However, I do remember a name which caught my attention.  It was… right, I believe Sir Grav called him ‘Briar’; a hare name, curiously enough.”

“Why curious?  Mister Earwicket is a hare, and despite his eccentricity, he’s a respected member of the community.”

“Of course, of course,” he quickly said, and nonchalantly pulled a metal case from his waistcoat pocket, “It’s only curious because Mister Briar is definitely a rabbit, not a hare.  Do you mind if I chew a root?” and popped open the case.

“Not at all, Daddy,” she allowed, and so he drew out a length of trimmed root to place between his teeth in the back of his mouth to then snap the case shut with a quiet chew, “I would not think it  _ that _ curious, though, since ‘Briar’ was originally a rabbit name.”

“A rare bit of history, that,” he grinned, speech unimpeded as a long-time chewer, “Both Hopps and Briar were some of the first rabbit families in the Burrow, you know, and the longest-lived.  Then came the hares, and while Briars allowed inter-mating, we Hoppses kept to fellow bunnies; now, there are more Briar hares than rabbits.”

“Which, one can argue, is not a bad circumstance, _ per se _ ?”

“You’d be hard pressed to find a Briar rabbit that agrees,” he mused, and checked his watch after putting his root-case away; on cue, Tillie came in with a tray of coffee and fresh cakes garnished with the promised cuts of ivy, “Punctual as always.”  The auburn curtseyed her gratitude before pouring a cup for the each of them; a few drops of cream but no sugar for her, and a generous doling of both for him.

“A good evening Sir, Miss,” she chimed.

“Tillie,” Lovey said before the housebunny could depart, picking up one of the cakes to examine it, for the scent was quite familiar to her, “are these the chef’s handiwork?”

“No, Miss,” she answered, “the grocer came by tonight to deliver them, saying they were a ‘special gift’.  Mr. Fox actually had to go and get them from the end of the driveway, because I think the grocer was a bit worried to step onto the grounds…”

“That’s preposterous,” grimaced Master Hopps, “He’s brought ‘special deliveries’ many nights before, and right up to the kitchen, no less.  I don’t see how now could be any different from then.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Sir, perhaps it was nothing, but I heard from the courier that a clerk said his friend the toymaker saw Mr. Fox, the grocer, nearly collide with Sir Grav on his way past the blacksmith to the concert.  Word was it made Sir Grav  _ quite  _ cross, but he handled himself like a proper gentlerabbit; now, they wouldn’t know this, but what with Mr. Fox coming by today looking for Miss Hopps, and the way Sir Grav was so protective at lunch, I can’t help but think he put a bit o’ caution into that big fella.”

“I see.  Thank you, Tillie, that will do,” Master Hopps said, and permitted her to leave before turning to his daughter studying one of the cakes.

“I am inclined to speak with Sir Grav about his conduct,” she restrained.

“Be patient with him, Lovebird,” instructed her father with a gentle arm at her shoulders, “He’s been asea for some years now but hardly home a week.  It’s a different world beyond those gates and I daresay a different Burrow than when he left.”

“I know,” she sighed deeply, setting the cake upon a dish and then looking up to her father, “my only concern is if this ‘friend’ of his harbors the same views or not…”

At a minute past ten-o’clock, one of the male housebunnies introduced two handsomely dressed gentlerabbits as “Sir Grav and Mister Briar”, the former easily recognized, but the latter was partially hidden by a rather large bouquet of flowers.  Of what Lovey could see of him, he was taller and broader built than many other rabbits she’d met.

“A very good evening, Master Hopps, Miss Hopps, thank you both for permitting such a late visit,” Sir Grav said, and took his seat in one of the armchairs when the patriarch offered it.  “I would like to introduce a trusted, fellow sailor from my time abroad, Squire Briar,” he added with an endearing smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both, Master and Miss Hopps,” said the bunny-eared bouquet.

“It’s good to see you again, Sir Grav,” Lovey greeted, and then leaned over slightly to get a better view of the other’s hidden face, “How do you do, Mister Briar.”

“Yes, a good evening to you both,” grinned the patriarch, arched though his eyebrow was, “Giving flowers in recognition of a performance is traditionally done  _ immediately  _ afterward, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, of course, Master Hopps,” Mister Briar apologized, “I did not think to bring a bouquet until the doors were already closed, so I had a devilish time finding a flower shop open at such an hour.  By great luck, I found a cart vendor willing to sell the days’ remaining stock in a single bundle. They are all of good quality, Miss Hopps; I checked them myself.”

“Oh, thank you,” she accepted stiffly and scooted away from the arm of the couch as Mister Briar, quite forwardly, propped them up beside her.  Indeed, they were a beautiful, if random, assortment of blooms and the whole thing sat taller than she, but given with such an awkward disposition it hardly seemed proper etiquette.  But then, it seemed Mister Briar was himself an awkward fellow, which made his association with Sir Grav all the more curious. Lovey found it a challenge to… get a sense of the shy, earthen-tone rabbit, as though he followed a fox’s practice of avoiding eye-contact with rabbits.

Sir Grav, in the manner of the paternal rabbit, pulled a shiny metallic case from a breast pocket with a cordial smile, and addressed them both from across the table as his cohort accepted a seat, “I did not notice it earlier, Master Hopps, but I found myself entranced by that motor vehicle of yours,” he commended before asking an imposition, “Do you mind if I smoke?” and flicked open the lid to reveal a row of thin cigarettes.

“Why, thank-”

“I  _ do _ mind, Sir Grav,” she curtly admonished, immediately recognizing the reddish tint and dark tips of fox-fur cigarettes.  Very popular amongst rabbit nobility, they were believed to improve the respiratory system rather than hinder it. The market for such things meant the less fortunate foxes of the Burrow had at least a semi-monthly income, however meager, but in many cases, the product was not always acquired with the fox’s wellbeing in mind.  Lovey’s own views on fox-fur cigarettes notwithstanding, the outburst was one of the few times the Silver Belle and the Steel Horn were at odds, which dropped her heart into her stomach. Horror-stricken at her own impropriety, she addressed her father in a somber tone, “Forgive my rudeness, Daddy, I did not mean to interrupt you.”

Sir Grav’s metal case snapped shut in unspoken criticism and was returned to its pocket.

Master Hopps addressed his daughter in turn, speaking softly, “If you are too exhausted for this visit, perhaps you would prefer to retire for the night.”

“Perhaps I would, thank you,” she agreed, eyes still cast down as she rose, and each male stood as well, “Please accept my apologies for treating you both in such an uncouth manner,” Lovey said, succinctly curtseyed, and then departed.

“Wait, Miss Hopps, please,” pleaded Mister Briar, and for a moment reached out as if he might never see her again.  He collected his countenance and continued, “In my years traveling the world I have not heard a sound more beautiful than your voice, nor should I if I searched for a thousand years.  Whether it’s your song or your opinion, I do not think the world could go on without your voice in it.”

Lovey turned from the door at such a passionate statement, truly unsure what to make of it.  What would her mother do if a gentlerabbit confessed like that? On the other hand, what would Sissy do in her situation?  Her training as a lady and the slyness learned in the company of a vixen both fell away like curtains torn from their moorings, leaving a girl to face the penultimate test of unmitigated honesty.  Turning fully to face Mister Briar, and even daring a single, minuscule step, she said the only thing her masterful voice could manage, “Thank you, Mister Briar,” she paused, seeing his chest swell to hold a breath, “Goodnight, Mister Briar.”  And so, Lovey exited the parlor at three minutes after ten o'clock.

In a fugue of confusion and indecision, her destination was not the bedroom she called her own, with the east-facing window and the prettiest part of the garden sitting outside.  No, it was the darkened music room with only a wedge of silver moonlight and a dim lamp, the latter she reached up to brighten. Closing and locking the door behind her, Lovey entreated the chest in which she hid the songs of Nicolaus Wilde and the thank you note from Big Gid.  It was a long, long time since she needed to collect her thoughts so desperately, to make sense of what she knew or didn’t know.

With care and reverence, she laid out the sheet music upon the floor in a grand fan, running her eyes through each stanza and bar, whispering the notes as they chimed between her ears.  Like an orchestra, the forty-eight songs played to her instruction, and at the maestro’s box sat the single square note received only that day. In time, Lovey’s heart troubled no more as she fell asleep on the music room floor and the grand symphony petered to the quiet, steady beeping of an EKG heart monitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing in an olde-timey sort of way was fun in many respects but I think I'm ready to get back to the usual flow of things, aren't you?
> 
> Quite a bit of the dialog and exchanges in here were inspired by Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner from Pirates of the Caribbean ("How many times...?" "At least once more, Ms. Hopps", etc.) and to clear he air, this place does bear a striking resemblance to Port Royale (except with motor carriages because I didn't want to muddy the waters with how vehicular transportation worked before the internal combustion engine; I do imagine that there was a market for able-bodied cart-pullers and the like but that will not, necessarily, be explored here).
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's a long... lo~ng way that I've co~me to here...  
> Each ste~p much harder than all those befo~re...  
> And the end of my journey, I fi~nd, to my fea~r...  
> That this stop is the wor~st one yet to endu~re...
> 
> Through rai~n and i~ce... wi~nds and sn~ow...  
> Lighting and thunder, I'd have taken, instea~d...  
> But of ev'rything I chanced to meet on the roa~d...  
> It wasn't Mother Nature who most wanted me dead..."
> 
> -Ballad of the Shifty Vagabond

There was an odd background noise in Judy’s waking mind, beyond the digital metronome which kept a pace of her pulse.  Dutifully, the machine quickened at her stirring consciousness to an extra half-beat. The air smelled sterile, as expected of modern hospitals.  The lights… fluorescent, if dim. A slight, sticking discomfort in her left arm, but most likely the saline drip, so nothing to worry about there.

“Well, look who finally crawled out of the rabbit hole,” said a starkly familiar voice.

“Nick?” asked Judy, still managing the movement of her mouth and eyes in a weakened state, and after some grunting effort, it was clear that her limbs didn’t respond.  “I can’t move my body… oh my gosh, Nick, am I paralyzed?” she fretted, eyes darting about the ceiling directly above her with a telltale wiggle of her nose.

“ _ Relax _ , sweetheart, you’re not paralyzed.  Just give your right thumb a wiggle, and push the ‘up’ button for your bed,” he explained, “Eye contact makes for a civil conversation, you know.”

“Button… button… okay, I got this,” Judy affirmed after a calming breath, and so her torso erected as the hospital bed motor whirred to life, the overhead lights gradually brightening as her eyes swept the room.  She also found, much to her relief, that her ears could swivel and flick from her prone position. “ _ There _ you are,” smiled the bunny, catching sight of a newspaper sitting in a chair across the room held by a full set of dark, pointed fingers with a pair of dark, pointed ears poking out the top, “And what’s this I hear about ‘eye contact,’ huh?”

The newspaper folded down, revealing a bright red rabbit with notably dark ears and paws sitting behind it, “It’s a bit old-fashioned, but hey, they wouldn’t call it ‘face-to-face’ without good reason.”

“Oh, sorry!” the gray rabbit nearly jumped, except her body insisted on its immobility, “I thought... this is awkward, but I thought you were a friend of mine.”

He frowned, and continued folding the newspaper to set it on a nearby table, “Ouch, to hear that I’m not a friend of yours…”

“Wow, open mouth, insert foot,” she chuckled weakly, “Let’s start over, okay?  Hi, I’m Judy Hopps and I was expecting to see some  _ specific _ friends of mine when I woke up; Nick Wilde and Gideon Grey, both foxes.  What’s your name?”

“ _ Hah _ , I’m just messing with you; you already know my name,” he smirked, standing to reveal a green button-up with a devil-may-care, loosely knotted tie, “but don’t worry your cute little self over it, it’ll come to you.”

Her purple eyes studied him under a furrowed brow, which then arched in realization, “You must be from my mother’s side of the family,” she smiled and scoffed, “Never ceases to amaze me the kind of relatives branching off  _ that _ tree.  Sorry again for the confusion, but you sound an  _ awful _ lot like my friend Nick; I wouldn’t think they made his shirt in bunny sizes.  Anyway, are they here, Nick and Gideon?  I need to tell them about this  _ crazy _ dream I had.”

“From the  _ midnicampum holicithias _ , you mean, nasty stuff from what I hear.  So tell me about this dream of yours,” prompted the red rabbit, sauntering to the bed and leaning on it with such a casual air, still smirking under a pair of vibrant green eyes.

“Right, th-… you know, it’s  _ so _ weird hearing that said in Nick’s voice,” she began with a wide, amused smile, and then glanced down in thought, “If  _ you _ know about it, then Sheriff Longmare must’ve already started the investigation, maybe even  _ solved  _ it if the details were released.  Did they catch who was behind it?”

He shrugged in good-humored defeat, “I only just got here, I’m afraid, but as far as  _ I _ know, the big bad baddy is still running about and being a general mystery.  As for your devilishly handsome friends,” he continued, and the long, dark ears swiveled in a searching motion, “Yep, still around,” came the report, “Never went very far, most likely.”

Judy’s ears swept the room again, and then focused a confused grimace on the red, smirking rabbit… until her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “I  _ do _ know your name…”

“Drum roll,  _ please _ …”

“You’re  _ Dawson _ !”

He threw his paws in the air, and with them came a momentary shower of confetti and fanfare, “ _ Ding ding _ , we have a winner!”

“But you’re  _ Nick _ ’s hallucination, not  _ mine _ ,” she began.  He arched his brow expectantly, smirk unwavering as she cringed and groaned before rolling her eyes back towards the ceiling, “Except I heard him talking about you, and your association with the  _ midnicampum holicithias _ implanted the idea in  _ my _ brain, so here you are.”

“Sounds like you know how this works.”

“Hah!  I actually have  _ no _ idea how ‘this’ works.  So, whatever ‘this’ is, please be useful and show me something I can work with.”

A disembodied buzzer sounded in the room, “Ooh, sorry, you did  _ not _ put it in the form of a question.”

Judy groaned and frowned, “Fine.  What does the  _ midnicampum holicithias _ do?”

“Crazy stuff.  Next question.”

She grumped, and took her time thinking on how to deal with this fox-like rabbit, “Nick said you -- his ‘Dawson’, I guess -- helped him think things through.  Are you… is this me talking with myself?”

He smiled and pointed to his left, causing a large, bright green checkmark to appear in the air next to his head with an affirmative chime.

“Hmmm… the  _ midnicampum holicithias _ is safe, isn’t it?  I mean, I’m still alive, after all; awake, even.”

Still smiling, he pointed to his right as a vibrant red ‘X’ showed at the sound of a buzzer.

Judy’s heart sank and her blood ran cold, a dry throat hindering her next question, “Am… am I…  _ dead _ ?”  The incorrect signal sounded again as another red ‘X’ popped up.  Judy breathed a sigh of relief. “Then that means I’m still out of it?” she clarified, and a second ‘ding’ rang with a second green check mark.

“I guess I still haven’t figured out what the whipped cream is supposed to  _ do _ ,” she frowned, “How do I figure it out?”

He grinned all the wider and hopped up onto the bed to sit cross-legged at its foot, “Now  _ there’s _ a smart question.  So, at the end of your dream, Lovely Laverne had all the sheet music spread out on the floor, right?”

Judy took a moment to process this, and then her eyes brightened, “Symbolism: it’s all laid out before me.”

“Keep going,” he urged and rolled his paws one over the other.

“Everyone in that dream represented some part of this case, didn’t they?” she realized with building excitement, “That would make Laverne me; I had a great-great-aunt named ‘Laverne’ that was my middle-namesake, after all.  And… oh, the suitors!”

“Yeah-huh?”

“‘Sir Grav’ is, well, Grav, obviously, but he represents whoever’s  _ actually _ behind all this,” she thought aloud, “Grav’s involved, but his role must be an  _ enforcer _ , not mastermind.  I’d bet he’d even be in a position to take the fall in a worst case scenario; if anyone could get away with murder, it’d be  _ him _ .”

“ _ Murder _ , is it?”

“Yes… yes!” she gasped, “‘Big Gid’ is Gideon, also obvious, and while  _ murder _ might not be on the docket, he could be framed for whatever the effects of the  _ midnicampum holicithias _ whipped cream are, which must be as  _ serious  _ as murder.  That would explain the hearsay confrontation between ‘Sir Grav’ and ‘Big Gid’: motive.”

“Oh, those naughty little flowers…”

“Which are represented by none other than the  _ gardener _ , ‘Nicolaus Wilde’ himself,” Judy grinned triumphantly, “Since he found out about it in the first place, it makes sense that he would be the one to tell me, Lovey, about it; that must be what the songs represent.”

“So, Lovely Laverne really  _ did _ have fox suitors, did she?” teased Dawson.

“Well,  _ maybe _ ,” Judy half-grinned, disregarding the warmth in her ears, “It was a dream, after all.  But going back to symbolism, Bo could represent the victims of tomorrow’s drug test-”

“Bo?” he interrupted.

“Yeah, Bo,” she repeated, and rolled her eyes at his bewildered shrug, “‘Mister _ Briar _ ’?  Big bunny who’s head-over-heels for Lovey?  Come on, Dawson, it couldn’t be more obvious.”

“Oh… sorry, no, not ringing any bells.”

She groaned in impatience, “Okay, step-by-step, Mister Briar and Bo Briar are the same size, right?  I mean, I think Bo is a bit taller compared to Grav than Mister Briar was, but it’s a dream, it’s not like it’s to  _ scale _ .  Take Big Gid, for example, he’s bigger than Nick in the dream, but not in real life.”

“ _ Was _ he bigger?” asked Dawson.

“Ye-... okay, that was an assumption, because he’s called ‘ _ Big _ Gid’, and it felt like Lovey knew he was bigger, but maybe the sizes didn’t translate  _ exactly _ ,” she conceded, and huffed to hurry onto the next point, “Anyway, he has the same color fur, a rich, earthen br-... No, it  _ wasn’t _ brown, was it?”

“I guess dreaming in color isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“It was, umm… it was more of a  _ golden _ color,” Judy considered, and as she took a few moments to remember how Mister Briar looked in the dream, each detail disproved her conclusion until her eyes sharpened in acceptance, “He  _ wasn’t _ Bo.  Dawson, who was he?”

“ _ That _ is an excellent question,” he smirked, propping his chin up while leaning to the side.

“But I can’t have dreamt him if I didn’t  _ know _ him, or at least known  _ of _ him, so I must’ve heard his name  _ some _ where; if nothing else, have an idea where I saw his face.  If  _ you _ don’t know his name, then how would I find it out?”

He chuckled, and then laughed as he sat up, rocking in his seat a bit, “Oh, the irony is too much.”

Judy grunted in frustration, “Hey, help me out here.  Mister Briar’s identity could crack this case wide open; I feel it in my bones.  Just tell me where I can research his name, and I’ll do it. Please.”

Dawson sighed with a smile, relaxing once again, “How can I say ‘no’ to those eyes…  Alright, I’ll give you  _ a  _ hint: ‘Let’s start over’.”

One beat and a furrowed brow later she said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.  I can’t just go back and ask some dream bunny his name, now can I?”

He smirked, lazily pointing to his right with a bright red ‘X’ and a sounding buzzer.

Judy looked to the mark, and then back to him, “I  _ can _ go back?  How?”

“Simple: scoot that thumb a little lower to the ‘down’ button, and when the bed goes back far enough to ‘click’ you’ll be in Ye Olde Burrow once more,” he explained, pointing to the control module in her right paw.

She lifted her thumb to look at the ‘down’ button.  “That’s it?”

“That’s it.  And if you kept holding the ‘up’ button, you’d be awake.”

“How is it that simple?” she challenged.

“Well,” he groaned and wheeled his paw while rolling his eyes, “‘Simple’ might  _ actually  _ be over-simplifying it.  Remember back in high school and college, when you packed more hours into the day by forcing REM sleep for twenty minutes at a time, thrice daily?  Ya’see, that took a  _ lot _ of intense mental exercises; make-believe rooms and company to keep you awake for long stretches, or object association to process info, that kind of thing.”

“So… if I understand this correctly, for example, this hospital room is something like a creative interpretation of the transition between my conscious and subconscious mind?”

“Who knew daily exercise  _ actually  _ had a use?”

“That’s… incredible,” Judy gasped, and then laughed, “Those mental exercises must have erected psychological safeguards that protected me from the neurobiological effects of the drug.  All my siblings and friends said I was  _ crazy _ for doing them, and yet it’s the reason I’m still alive!  Boom!”

“It’s probably  _ a _ reason,” he postulated.

“Come again?”

“Can’t know what you’re safe from until you know what the drug does, now can you?”

“Well, that’s only a matter of time, my dear Dawson,” she grinned, gradually reclining with a whirr of the motorized bed, “I’ll jump in, get his name, and jump out; easy-peasy.  I might even get back in time to catch him before they finish visiting with dream-Dad.”

“It’s cute you think that.”

The bed stopped before it was nearly flat.  “It  _ won’t _ be that easy, will it.”  She needn’t even address the congratulatory chime of a correct answer or the bright green check-mark that the red bunny pointed to.  “That wasn’t even a direct question,” Judy critiqued but then sighed her concession, “A new dream could mean new circumstances, new time frame.  What should I know going into this?”

“Nothing you aren’t already aware of,” Dawson said, and in an instant was standing astride her diaphragm, bent forward and holding his knees.  “Ever since your awkward teenage years, you’ve had an imaginary kingdom -- cleverly named ‘The Burrow’ -- based loosely on the romanticized bunny history of one-hundred-fifty years ago.”

“ _ Yes _ , which I then adapted for memory exercises when I got older.  We’ve already covered this,” Judy rebutted, glaring up at the crimson rabbit a bit too close for her comfort.

“But I figure you  _ didn’t  _ include the subjugation of foxes in your original design.”

An agonized silence was broken only by a steady beep of the heart monitor.  “There’s something you’re not telling me, Dawson, something I already figured out but refuse to admit to myself,” she said, “Out with it, what’s going on?”

His face set as he leaned in closer and braced against the railings of the bed, “If you stare too long into the Abyss it will stare back, but there’s no Bobo this time to pull you from that edge,” Dawson grinned and arched his brow, “Clear enough for you?”  He reeled back with a surprised yell as Judy’s ears flung forward to smack his face.

“I’ve got hundreds of brothers and sisters, so this isn’t the first time I’ve been pestered while immobilized.   _ Your _ mistake was getting close enough with my ears still free,” she smirked smugly, “By the way, will this be like lucid dreaming?”

“Sure, you can call it that,” Dawson groaned, rubbing his forehead as he stood so he was only slightly hunched, and then folding his paws behind him, “However, I suggest against meddling until you find out what,  _ exactly _ , you’re ‘safeguarded’ against.”

“Go in, discreetly get the info, and evac while I still can,” smiled Judy on her way back, “That sound about right?”

“Thereabouts,” he grinned, and waited for the exact, opportune moment, “Good luck, Miss Fox.”

“Come again?”

_ Click. _

 

* * *

 

The ground was harder and colder than she remembered.  It made for a stiff back as she tried to sit up with a discomforted groan and groggy thoughts.   _ What did he mean by ‘Miss Fox’? _ Judy wondered, covering her mouth in a waking yawn only to discover that her mouth jutted a bit further than anticipated.  Startled by the bop on her nose, she gawked at her own claw-tipped paw, turning it over with ever-widening eyes and slacking jaw.

“I’m a fox…” she wheezed, cupping her face and tugging her ears, even reaching back to confirm the dread suspicions of a long, bushy tail.  “Why am I a  _ fox _ ?   _ How _ am I a fox?  I’m supposed to be  _ Lovey _ !” worried the gray vixen.  After several shallow breaths regulated to lengthen and deepen, she sat on the stone floor to assess her situation.  “There’s a reason for this,” came a scholarly tone, fingers gesturing to make a point in aloud thought and gradually calming composure, “I’m a fox for a reason specific to the case, and all I need to do is figure out the logic behind it.

“Yes, the  _ how _ is simple enough: it was during the precinct-mandatory ‘Predator Species Sensitivity Training’ after the Pred-Scare, when I imagined myself as a fox for a workshop,” she recalled.  While speaking aloud is beneficial to abstract thought, as many would attest, it’s only productive when either in an agreeable company or alone, “So, the question is,” she continued, believing herself in either circumstance, “ _ why _ am I a fox?”

To Judy’s terror, someone managed to sneak up from behind; an improbable feat if she still boasted a set of keen bunny ears.  It was the smell she noticed first, pungent masculinity that struck like a brick through drywall, kickstarting her evasive instincts and honed reflexes to duck away from a swiping paw.  What a paw it was, too, easily big enough to touch finger-to-thumb around her neck, despite being a fox herself.

“How’d you get in here?” he growled rhetorically.

Judy braced herself against the ground after a nimble tumble and glanced upwards at the hulking figure.  “I… I…” she hesitated, squatting back on her haunches and holding out her paws to placate, “I’m sorry, but I’m not even sure where  _ here  _ is.”   _ That is a very big fox _ , Judy worried,  _ A very big, very angry fox…  _ and then noticed a pair of blue eyes behind shaggy bangs.  “Gid?” she gasped, standing up a bit straighter with her purple eyes locked on his.

He paused, canting his head with teeth a little less bared, “Aye, tha’s me; so then you must know what  _ Big  _ Gid does to thieves,” he warned and advanced another step, clenching claws eager to rend.

“No, I’m not a thief!” she insisted in retreat, “Please, wait, you know me, I’m Jud-!” and gasped again as her rear foot bumped into a wall of crates blocking an escape route.

“I don’t know no fox named ‘Jude’,” he snarled, and then lunged to grab but she was slippery, indeed.  Ducking under his extended arm, the gray fox darted away from the crates and behind her attacker as he collided with the makeshift wall, only to push off and spin around.  Were she a bunny, Judy would escape his reach without a second to spare, but the trailing length of fur, bone, and flesh was not accounted for until Big Gid wrapped his fingers around it.  In a yelp of surprise, Judy clawed at the ground as she was dragged back and pinned, feeling his hot breath against her nape and claws against her back. “Last chance,  _ thief, _ how’d you get in here?” he demanded.

“I’m not-” she strained, forcing herself to calm despite his claws digging into her, “I’m not a ‘thief’, technically, unless I take or intend to take something, right?”  She winced as his fist struck a nearby crate.

“Don’t tell me what I know; tell me what I don’t.  How’d. You. Get. In?”

“I don’t  _ know _ ,” groaned Judy, straining and writhing against the unfairly nonchalant yet unyielding capture, “I just woke up in here, honest!”

The growling didn’t stop, but his grip relaxed as he flipped her onto her back and crouched over her.  As she suspected, his fingertips touched the stone on either side of her neck without any pressure against the throat; if she were bolted to the ground, it would not have held her any better.  Big Gid leaned in and studied her face with a sniff, which only further confused him. “You said I know you,” he challenged, even though his voice indeed softened, “Where d’you come from, Jude?”

_ Ohh, umm… where did foxes come from back then?  He’s definitely a grocer, since these crates are filled with foodstuffs; maybe he came from a farm, _ she reasoned, but as she reasoned her mind drifted to the  ~~ K ~~ CARROTS and the  ~~ S ~~ CELERY awaiting delivery, and even though she was a mental construct of herself, it seemed some parts were still connected to signal receptors from her brain.  Before Judy could answer, she remembered that only a cup of coffee and a lick of whipped cream nourished her since a lunchtime salad; and so groaned her make-believe stomach with perceived hunger.

Big Gid stared blankly at her face, which spared an awkward grin and chuckle, even offering a shrug while she held onto his wrist.  The blue eyes narrowed as his fingers reached to her back and grabbed around the scruff of her shirt to hoist her up. Though staggered, the gray vixen found footing and looked up curiously as the hulking fox rose to full height.  Other than a patient finger tapping on his crossed arm, he remained still and silent.

_ Oh, I guess he’s waiting for me to prove I’m not a thief _ , Judy realized and folded her paws to look as pitiable as possible (her tail also curled around a leg, but unsure if she meant it to do that),  _ Improv drama classes, don’t fail me now _ .  “Umm… Big Gid, could you spare a bit of food, please?  I would need only a carrot to get by,” she requested, and looked at the labeled crate with it’s crossed-out ‘K’.   _ Surely a kingdom full of bunnies would have plenty of carrots to go around _ , she reasoned, hoping to appeal to both a logical and charitable side of Gideon’s imaginary counterpart.

He didn’t answer immediately, not until she looked up at him.  “‘Fraid I haven’t a carrot to spare,” he reported and scratched at his neck dismissively, looking about at some of the other produce, “Do, you uhh… have a hankerin’ for anything else?”

_ ‘Haven’t a carrot to spare’ my lucky foot _ , she doubted, but picked out another that she could see, “Perhaps a stalk of celery?”

“Nope,” he quickly responded, “Sorry, all out.”

“What about the apples?” and pointed to a crate.

“They’s special order only.”

“And those beets?”

“Already bought.”

“You know what, I don’t think I’m that hungry anymore,” she ceded, and maybe it was the growing grin on his face, but the earlier tension seemed diffused and now he contented in teasing her, “Since I  _ clearly  _ didn’t take anything to eat, may I leave?  And tell you what, if I ever figure out how I got in here in the first place, I’ll let you know, alright?”

“Alright; you could’ve stumbled in here by accident, I guess.  But how’s about you answer my other question,” he said, and leaned in once more, “Where would I know you from?”

The momentary annoyance gave way to renewed wariness at the less-than-rhetorically toned inquiry.  “About that, I must’ve mistaken you for another fox,” she suggested, “Someone  _ else  _ I knew as a… kit.  I simply wasn’t in my right mind when I woke up; strange place, big fox, you know how it is.”

“Yer a bad liar,” he smirked, “but a good reader.  Must be the luckiest fox alive to last as long as you are.”  Considerably thick arms uncrossed, Big Gid stepped past to the crate of carrots, lifting the lid to pull out a crisp cone of orange, “This’ll hold you over for now,” and tossed the vegetable.

“Oh, thanks,” she accepted with a deft catch, though her eyes didn’t leave him _. _  Her clawed fingers drummed on the carrot as he turned back towards the door of the storehouse, waving her to follow from over his shoulder.

“C’mon, Jude, you’re helping with deliveries,” he directed, “Got a tight schedule to keep, and you takin’ up time doesn’t do any good.”

“Uh, sure!” she agreed, and then pondered,  _ Things are radically different, so all those nice preconceptions I had coming in are bupkis.  I’ll need to think like a fox from back then, which means… eyes down, defer to bunnies, don’t get caught reading, and I answer to ‘Miss Fox’. _  Examining the carrot, she bit off the tip with a satisfying crunch,  _ I’m actually a pretty good liar, with a partner like Nick I’d have to be, and yet I couldn’t fool Big Gid with a simple ‘maybe I was mistaken’ ploy. _

Quietly munching, Judy found that the taste and texture were all she expected them to be and more, even feeling the subtle weight of food on her stomach.   _ “The best produce in the Burrow, bar none” _ , she recalled, glancing over a shoulder at the storeroom,   _ Does this carrot taste good because I  _ expect _ it to taste good? _ she wondered,  _ To that point, I  _ wasn’t _ expecting Big Gid to be as clever as he is… although if he’s Lovey’s pupil, perhaps he  _ would _ be.  I might be taking too much for granted, _ she reasoned, _ What if he represents something more than the motive for the case, or even something not related to the case at all?  For that matter, there could be  _ multiple  _ threads running through this dream, all cluing at unanswered questions I’ve held onto my whole life.  Dawson mentioned the “abyss”, but what if it was more than a passing quip, what if there are things down here I repressed? _

Judy followed his lumbering form up a raised platform leading into -- what she soon discovered was -- a pieced-together, ramshackle kitchen.  From the stove to the sink and the counters to the cupboards, the entire room looked ready to fall apart if so much as a fierce-enough sneeze hit the framework.  Despite the shabby appearance, a cornucopia of rapturous scents wafted from the spices and ingredients, or the lingering aroma of freshly baked goods from the oven.   _ All of these smells… _ she marveled, and breathed them deeply,  _ The cinnamon, the cloves, the nutmeg, the vinegar; I could never have smelled them from the doorway as a bunny.  So, not only do I  _ look _ like a fox, but I  _ sense _ like a fox, too; I can see now that the storeroom is dimmer than the kitchen, thus, I must have night vision on top of it all. _  Judy felt distant, lofty with building revelation, _ Could it be that the safeguard is I’m a fox, inside-and-out?  But what kind of safeguard would that be in  _ this _ society? _

The sudden snap of fingers an inch from her nose popped the inner monologue, “You okay there, Jude?  Lookin’ all out of sorts, y’are,” worried Big Gid, but then a smirk tugged at the corner of his black-lipped mouth, “Oh... hit the cider  _ pretty _ hard last night, didn’t ya’.”

After a near jump from the noise, she shifted away and looked up at the apron-clad, threadbare-attired grocer.  It seemed such a stark difference to how Nicolaus Wilde, the groundskeeper of a well-to-do merchant, had relatively fine clothes, albeit dirty at the cuffs, hems, and knees from his work in the garden.  Judy’s composure quickly recovered as she leaned on the nearby counter, adopting the nonchalance from her own Nick. “Certainly would explain a lot,” she mused and saw an opportunity, “Can’t remember a thing about yesterday.  Anything interesting I should know about?”

“Define ‘int’resting’,” Big Gid replied, turning to thumb through a stack of papers hanging by the door, and then added, “Burrow’s been quiet most the week, so you haven’t missed anything if you’ve been out a day.”

“And… if I’ve been out the week?” Judy asked hypothetically.

“A  _ week _ ?” he looked over his shoulder, “If you’ve been out a week, Jude, then you ain’t been in the Burrow since…”  Pivoting full to face her, he leaned in with such a concerned frown he might have addressed a deathbed patient rather than a previously perceived thief, “Where’d you come from, Jude?”

_ I guess he’s not letting this go, but maybe I can leave out a few details,  _ “Cards on the table,” she sighed, “I come from a farm far, far away from here, but I honestly don’t know how I woke up in your storeroom,”  _ Unless you can explain how someone drops into a make-believe world _ , “Now you know as much as I do.”

He reeled violently as if Judy burst into flame.  Turning on a heel, Big Gid paced through the kitchen, scratching his arms and glancing at her with frightened eyes, “Oh bad, bad bad bad,” he mumbled, whimpered, and moaned, but then stopped so his back was to her; his tail puffed, swished in agitation as he held the counter with hunched shoulders, “If this is a lie or a prank, now’d be the time to come clean,” he warned in a strained voice.

Judy no longer leaned in a casual manner but stood upright at attention,  _ Tell me what’s going on, Big Gid _ , she bade, and approached him to touch his elbow, as it was about level with her shoulder, “It’s true, but I’m in the dark on a lot of it.  Please, I need your help.”

The larger fox held his breath, and when he released it the very kitchen seemed to tremble with its weight  “A big-time bunny came back from overseas a week ago, got knighted and all sorts of stuff so now he’s  _ really _ important.  Brought with him gifts for the Crown and nobles, too.  I heard one of those ‘gifts’ was a bunch of foxes from somewhere far off; claimed they were the luckiest in the world.  Word on the street is a few of them escaped or were ‘freed’, but it was hushed up. I didn’t believe it until now, but then here you come out of nowhere,” he said, and turned to look at her, “You ain’t even from  _ around _ the Burrow, Jude, I can see that plain as day.  If you’re one of those that’re missing, then I’m a dead fox for stealin’ you…”

Judy’s blood ran cold,  _ No… I didn’t condemn him, did I…? _ she dreaded, but no sooner did it cross her mind than a faint, ominous groan filled the air.  The fur stood on her nape, ran down her spine and puffed her tail; ears pointed high as she whipped her head around for the source, “What’s that sound?” she worried.

“What?” barked Big Gid, jumping back from the counter and gawking at the kitchen’s other exit, putting himself between Jude and the door while holding out a protective paw, “They found you!” he yelled, and though unsure of what he  _ could  _ do if anyone of authority barged in, they’d at least go through him before they got to her.

“ _ Who _ found me?” asked Judy, leaning around him to look at the immobile door leading out, but the only noise was his sharp breathing as the groan faded.  Soon enough, they stood in dead silence, Big Gid even holding his breath as several seconds passed without incident. The two foxes dared to relax before she whispered, “Big Gid, who would’ve found me?”

“The Blessed Court,” he whispered back.  If anything of the sort were to come through the door, it likely would’ve happened already.  “Hey Jude,” he continued, looking over his shoulder, “What was it you said you heard?”

“It sounded like the whole place was going to collapse,” she explained, still whispering as she looked up at him, and then at the ceiling and walls, “If it  _ were _ the Blessed Court, what would it sound like?”

“Bells, lots of bells,” he didn’t bother whispering, and turned more to face her, “You didn’t hear any of those?”

“No, I  _ thought _ I heard buckling infrastructure,” she said, also not whispering as she stood upright again and flicked her ears in attempts to search, “You didn’t hear it?”

“Buckling  _ what _ ?” he doubted, huffing a bit.  He seemed put off but also relieved, “You scared me half-to-death, Jude, I thought I was gonna be hauled off in irons, and goodness knows what would’ve happened to  _ you _ .”

“How could you not hear it?” she asked, but it was evident by the bewildered, frustrated look on his face that he certainly did not.   _ That would mean only  _ I _ heard it, _ she realized, holding her paws to her sides under his scrutinizing stare, “What?  At least it wasn’t the Blessed Court, right?”

He crossed his arms with a harrumph, “You’re causin’ me a heap o’ worry with none of the trouble, but I don’t know whether that’s worse or not.  If you’re one of those that got away, then I gots me a duty to see you find safe living, but consider your luck run dry if you pluck my nerves like that again.”  Decisively, he grabbed the packet of hanging papers and tossed it to Judy, “Enough playing around. There’re a whole buncha empty crates with rope handles right inside the storeroom, fill ‘em up with what you see on there and stack ‘em near the double doors in the back.  And make sure they’re in  _ that  _ order, got it?”

Judy, glad for the distraction from her mistake, grunted in confirmation as she flipped through what looked like receipts.  Each slip boasted Big Gid’s messy scrawl, and though there were some misspellings and no more than two words strung together -- three at the most -- they reminded her of the thank you note to Lovey.   _ He didn’t waste any time putting her teachings to good use, did he? _ she melted, and then looked up at his waning patience.

“Big Gid, why were you so protective of me a minute ago?” she speculated, “ _ If _ I was meant as a gift I can’t imagine much harm would come to me, and wouldn’t turning me in lessen your sentence?”

The severity in his eyes whisked away like chaff on the wind, until he almost looked pitying, “Jude, I don’t know what foxes are like where  _ you _ ’re from, but here in the Burrow we gotta look out for each other, no matter what comes of it; that ain’t even an  _ issue _ .”  He then turned his head and rubbed his neck as she loosed a grateful moan, to which he cleared his throat, “Besides, I guess you… kinda remind me of someone I know; a li’l bit.”

She beamed, “Do you mean Lovey?” and then snapped her jaws tight, but an instant too late to catch a fateful slip of the tongue.   _ Oh, biscuits…  _ thought Judy at Big Gid’s dawning shock, “You know, Love _ ly _ Laverne,” the gray vixen spat out, “The Silver Belle?  Grav wouldn’t stop talking about her and her, umm, purple eyes…”

It seemed to both placate and concern him as he scratched the top of his head with a quirked brow, “You really  _ are _ one of those escaped foxes, aren’t you?  I was hopin’ to be wrong about that, but I guess it is what it is if you know about  _ him _ .  And, yeah, you kinda look like Lovey -- I mean -- Miss Hopps…”  With another, deeper throat clearing and an ushering push of his mitt-like paws, Judy was back in the storeroom, “Speaking of, I have baking to do and you have orders to fill, so, chop chop,” and closed the door behind her; it nearly muted a winded sigh and unintelligible muttering, too.  She smiled smugly.

Once more in the dim, Judy found her night vision made reading the receipts as easy as if he stood in daylight.   _ Where did all of this come from, anyway?  I don’t recall hearing about gift-foxes from my history classes,  _ she pondered, and swiftly set up the aforementioned delivery crates for ease in organizing, only to stop and hang her head in dismay,  _ Oh no… I’ve spent  _ hours _ reading Woolipedia indiscriminately… fact and fiction could be bleeding together!  No, bad Judy, focus _ , she chastised and then recovered, _ It doesn’t matter if it actually happened or not because I’m only concerned about symbolism, whether it appears as noted historical figures or a giant chicken playing the guitar. _

_ The good news is we’re heading for Hopps Manor, and if Grav’s only been in town a week, then Mister Briar might still be around.  All  _ I _ need to do is find out his name and I can hop on out of here before anything  _ really _ bad happens. _  She paused, thinking back to the “buckling” from earlier, and glanced warily to the ceiling,  _ That groaning… it was definitely like when the old warehouse was about to collapse a few months ago, and if only  _ I _ heard it… could it possibly have something to do with the safeguards? _  She shivered,  _ No doubt about it, that’s the “abyss” Dawson warned of; so I can’t let myself get caught up in… how did Nick put it, my “failed hero disorder”? _

The menial work of allocating foodstuffs amongst crates had an oddly therapeutic effect on a troubled mind within a mind.  “A bundle of carrots, three apples, and a bag of kidney beans”, “a bundle of carrots,  _ two _ apples, and a head of lettuce”, “a bundle of carrots, and three stalks of celery”, “a bundle of carrots…”   _ I suppose in a kingdom of bunnies, carrots  _ would _ be the staple crop _ , Judy mused, and before she knew it, she tucked the last receipt in the last crate.   _ “Hopps” _ …  forlornly read the gray vixen, as though outside-looking-in,  _ Why wasn’t I Lovey this time around? _

An idle tongue ran over a shard of carrot wedged between her teeth, and she grunted when licking alone would not dislodge it.  Examining a brand new set of predator’s claws, she utilized one particularly pointed pinky and dug out a scrap of food from her fangs.  Wondering where she would sanitarily dispose of something she pulled out of her mouth, she considered putting it back in for sake of convenience but was bewildered that an orange carrot could have a midnight purple petal.   _ That’s… _ halted Judy, and clapped both paws over her mouth to muffle a momentary scream, gawking at the crates.

“The carrots are… _Night Howlers_?” she whimpered, each bundle no longer the iconic root vegetable tucked in with beets, corn, and lettuce, but the toxic flower whose abuse brought such fear and upheaval to the mammals of Zootopia; in a blink, all were orange again.  “Okay, Judy, calm down,” she said after a full inhale-exhale cycle, “Symbolically, the flowers are the drug in the whipped cream; check. I put the carrots in the crates because I introduced that drug to my system by eating the whipped cream; check.  Archetypically, bunnies eat carrots the most, therefore…” she gulped, “ _therefore_ , the drug is specified to bunnies; check.”  Judy steeled herself to conclude, “I am a fox because a bunny would’ve already succumbed to the drug, and there’s still hope -- however slim -- of getting out of this.  Check.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "giant chicken playing a guitar" is a reference to Alan-A-Dale, from Robin Hood.
> 
> I'm not the only one who wanted to write Nick as a rabbit and Judy as a fox, right? Right? Anyway, welcome to the other side of the looking-glass, I hope you have as much fun with the next few chapters as I did writing them.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	21. Chapter 21

“Okay, repeat back what I told ya’,” instructed Big Gid, lifting tarts from a cooking tray with such delicacy that he might’ve been handling butterflies made from gold filigree.

“As far as bunnies are concerned, all foxes are ‘cousins’, even if they’re siblings,” began Judy, enumerating the points with her fingers while sitting on the counter, “except older foxes are ‘uncles’ and ‘aunties’, and  _ really _ old foxes are either ‘Gramps’ or ‘Granny’.”   _ It’s honestly not too different from the modern rabbits’ “farmily” nomenclature _ , she pondered,  _ but more “brothers” and “sisters” than “cousins”. _

“And?”

“ _ And _ vixens wear dresses; since I am in slacks, I’m ‘Jude’, and I answer to ‘Mr. Fox’,” she explained and kicked her legs,  _ Sounds like the return of ‘Jude the Dude’ _ , “Speaking of, a bunny will not ask my name except in rare circumstances, and as such I should not endeavor to volunteer it.”

“A bit wordy, but not bad so far,” he commended, wrapping up the special delivery of Miss Hopps’s breakfast, “What else?”

“‘Never write more than your stove can burn’, and ‘anything that takes more than a glance to read is not worth losing an eye over’,” Judy recited,  _ Morbid but necessary, considering what happens to a fox if caught doing either _ .  “Bunnies are ‘Sir’, ‘Miss’, or ‘Ma’am’, and don’t look at them for too long because it makes them uneasy’.  That about sum it up?” she asked, and slid off the countertop.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a Burrow fox already,” he lauded, but looked her over one last time before turning to head out the door, “Hmm… hold on a tic,” Big Gid determined and ducked out the kitchen by rounding a corner to make shuffling noises and mutter inquiringly.  When Judy’s curiosity overcame her patience, she advanced to investigate, but the simple act of poking around that same corner found her head covered in a promptly positioned cloth cap. “There,” grinned Big Gid, standing in the doorway and looking quite pleased with himself when Judy lifted the bill, “that should hide those bright eyes of yours.”

“Why, do they stand out?” she asked, and replaced the cap with a quick adjustment, even pulling it over her face a bit,  _ Everyone says I got my eyes from Mom, and they could always pick me out of a lineup by them _ , Judy thought, and continued to think, _ so probably not the best for a low profile. _

“Purple eyes ain’t too common, and since they make you look like Miss Hopps with your gray fur, they could draw unwanted attention if anyone thinks on where they ‘seen those colors before’,” he elaborated.

“I see…” she pondered, and tilted the cap off to the side a smidgen, “In that case, I think I’m ready to hit the streets,” and grinned confidently, paws balled at her hips.

“Well ya’ ain’t, you’re way too perky,” he corrected, to which she immediately deflated.  He smirked and swiped his finger through the air approvingly, “Tha’s much better, but try to go for ‘shy and withdrawn’; should be easy for a cute li’l fox like you.”

“Really, ‘cute’?” she scoffed and unballed the fists on her hips to shift weight to one leg.   _ Wait… I’m not a bunny, so he said that as one fox to another, _ and added before he looked too taken aback, “You… think I’m cute?”  Judy folded her paws behind her and rocked from heel to toe, this time intentionally curling her tail.

“For a tomboy,” he chuckled, and pushed the cap back onto her face, “But that was good, Jude, keep it up and you’ll be melting bunny hearts in no time.  They’ll never admit it, but some think the world of us foxes, and that’s includin’ a few of my customers.” He grabbed a pair of coats from a nearby hook and then popped open the outside door.

_ Like Lovey _ , Judy smiled, adjusting the cap to its preferred askew position while walking in tow, “And what about you, Big Gid, what do you play yourself up as?”

“Simple brute,” he said curtly, tossing her the smaller of the coats before shrugging his on, “But I gotta be careful not to play  _ too _ dumb, or else I start thinkin’ dumb.”

“Can’t have  _ that _ ,” she said under her breath, catching the offered garment and following the shaggy hulk into the dead of night.   _ I didn’t realize how late it was _ , she wondered,  _ or is it early?  I guess nocturnal mammals like foxes get the most work done when their bunny overlords are asleep. _

Even knowing it was the dark before dawn, Judy found that starlight was plenty to navigate by and it all seemed… mystifying, so much so she could not help but pause and witness the bustling, dimly-lit habitats of her fellow foxes.  It simply took her breath away, soaking in the ambient cloud of culture that, surely, was little more than an incoherent backdrop, a make-believe amalgamation of everything she ever learned about foxes and bunnies. “Wow…” she let slip.

“Huh?” Big Gid responded, and backtracked until he stood adjacent, head swiveling to figure out her amazement, “What is it?”

“Just… everything.”

After a quiet moment, he moaned in understanding, “Oh yeah, all this.  I guess when you’ve been on a ship for… as long as you been on a ship, it’s a bit surprising, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she admitted.  Nocturnal life was rare for bunnies, even in a dream world, it seemed, but Judy -- ever the trier -- sampled the nightlife in Preds’ Corner despite its overwhelming atmosphere; even most ecosystems of Zootopia paled in comparison to the potential of a concentrated predator population.  And here, with a thousand houses on a gentle slope, no two the same yet joined in an architectural mosaic, every-night life teemed amongst the crimson shadows. What Judy felt in rabbit society, by no means sterile or dead but tranquil and vibrant, was a conditional peace that only existed because the practice of civility kept either side safe from one another; so long as the foxes weren’t savage, rabbits maintained the peace.

_ Or maybe it’s only how bunnies see predators… _ she came to lament, recalling an accusation from when she joined the police force as the first bunny officer.  Judy then held her arms when ears and tail drooped,  _ Is this how I view foxes, in a slum?  If these really are my deepest thoughts, then I am no better than those close-minded bigots I decry.  Where does the objectivity end and the bias begin…? _  She gripped tighter as a buckling whine whispered between her ears…

A massive paw grabbed her shoulders as Big Gid leaned her into his barrel chest, “Don’t worry, Jude, you’ll do fine here.  Ain’t much of a liar, but you’re sly enough to make up for it.” There was that scent again, the masculine pungence which alerted her to danger when she first smelled it was, instead, mingled with warm dough, sugar, and freshly baked nuts.  “It ain’t a lot,” Big Gid continued, “but it’s plenty.” He squeezed her shoulder, and then pushed her hat down, “C’mon, we’re wastin’ all that time you made up for.”

_ Oh my gosh, that really got away from me, and I only let my mind wander a little bit _ , Judy thought and adjusted her hat once again,  _ It must trigger from  _ any _ negative emotion; jeez, talk about self-destructive.  I really need to stop beating myself up,  _ she huffed,  _ Thanks, Big Gid, but seriously, I need to popularize hygiene in here (after I integrate bunnies and foxes, of course). _

Around the corner from the front door sat the grocer’s delivery cart, and like its owner, it was a bulky monster of a thing.  Judy reasoned through basic observation there was no reason to keep it locked up, if only because it wouldn’t be worth the effort to steal.  It actually brought her attention to the heavy-duty doors of the storeroom and the monstrosity of a lock securing it. “Big Gid, I’ve got a question,” she said, nimbly hopping up onto the cart as he pulled a matching key from his pocket, and grunted to allow her inquiry, “Is burglary really an issue?”

He shrugged.  “Sometimes, kits take a while to figure out how things work, so I need to teach ‘em that askin’ gets more than takin’.”

“So, if foxes don’t steal from each other, why all the security?”

“I never said foxes don’t steal from each other,” he grunted again and swung the doors open as Judy hopped in, “It usually means things’re really bad for ‘em, and they can’t even trade work for a meal or are too proud to ask for help.  Scaring ‘em tends to set ‘em straight, I find, and then comes the cryin’ and the clingin’ if they ain’t scratchin’ and bitin’; frankly, I’m glad  _ you _ didn’t do any of that.”

“Well… you gave me a chance to ask,” she said, counting off the crates, “Hopps Manor, last stop, so this one goes in first.”

“Oh, Jude,” he sighed with a shake of his shaggy head, and plucked out the receipt, “Don’t leave these lying around.  It may not look it, but bunnies  _ do _ wander these here roads at weird hours, ‘specially as close to Burrow proper as I am.  That’s the other reason I keep this place locked up, y’know, can’t have anyone spottin’ all that writin’ I did on my crates.  Gather up those slips, we’ll burn ‘em after loadin’ everything.”

Her brow furrowed in thought, “Couldn’t you say that they were written by this recluse bunny everyone thinks you are?”

“ _ No _ … not really, no, these are… a recent thing,” he admitted, “I did everything by memory, y’see, so if these pop up all of a sudden-”

“It’d draw unwanted attention,” Judy realized.

“Yeah, and with chicken scratches like mine, it’d be  _ mighty  _ suspect.  Any bunny with a business their own won’t have writing like this.”

The gray vixen grinned knowingly.  “Are you self-taught?” she wondered aloud, inspecting one of the receipts before handing it over.

“Oh, uhh…” wavered Big Gid, fumbling the slip of paper before joining it to the rest, “N-no, I ain’t; I have a… a teacher, teaching me my letters,” he said quietly.

“Teach _ ing _ , so you’re still at it?” she pried a little further, taking some degree of enjoyment from watching him fidget. “Knowing what happens to a fox for literacy, I don’t want to think about what happens to one caught  _ teaching _ it.”

“No surer way to dance the gallows jig, unless you attack a bunny,” he said soberly.  Judy grew solemn as she handed him the last receipt, to which he cleared his throat, “Anyway, ‘tweren’t a fox which taught me to read ‘n’ write,” Big Gid added, his voice a bit lighter as he pulled out the Hopps Manor receipt, “Which I s’pose is a worse risk, now that I think about it.”

Judy leaned in from the storeroom door onto his shoulder,  _ He would never have let me do this in real life~ _ , “She probably chose that risk because it was the right thing to do.”

“Yeah…” he said and then paused, glancing up at her with a bewildered look, “How’d you know she’s a  _ she _ ?”

_ Softball pitch, Gid, _ and pointed to the revered receipt with a grin, “Lucky guess, but ‘Hopps’, for one thing, and you  _ must  _ spend time together if a similarly-colored fox holds enough resemblance to remind you of her,” a single paw tugged on a warming ear, “Plus, it’s apparent that you think fondly of her, more so than distant admiration, ergo, you have  _ some  _ kind of relationship-”

Big Gid’s ears burned hot as the receipts crinkling in his wringing paws, “Jude!” he barked, “Tha’s-!  It’s not-! We ain’t-!” and hastily turned away from her.

Judy, without anything to lean on, decidedly fell onto the cart with a yelp.  “I meant you have a  _ student-teacher _ relationship, Gid…” she groaned, attempting to pick herself up while rubbing her nose,  _ Maybe I’m not used to it yet, but how can anyone stand having these extra inches sticking out from their face? _

“After the Blessed Court’s done with me, there wouldn’t  _ be  _ anything left to hang,” he dreaded, unlistening while twisting the receipts in his grip.

_ Why do I feel pain in a dream, anyway, _ harrumphed Judy, and tugged on his tail, “Hey, help me up; we’ve still got a job to do, you know.”

“Huh?” Big Gid grunted, looking to the fallen vixen, “Oh!  Gosh, sorry Jude,” he worried, shoving the ball of papers into his coat pocket so to carefully lift and set her back in the storeroom doorway, “You’re right, very right, we’ll need to pick up the pace to make up for lost time.”

After a quick brushing off, the two double-timed their loading in silence, which had an oddly synchronizing effect to their cooperation, such that Judy nearly stumbled to grab at a crate that wasn’t there.   _ Oh… we’re done? _ she realized and adjusted her cap before the other fox spotted her foible.  They actually finished when Judy fished out a clean sheet from the storeroom and affixed it to the cart as a cover for the produce, while Big Gid re-secured the heavy double doors.

“Ya’know, Jude,” said the larger fox, releasing the cart’s rudimentary braking system, “If you don’t have anywhere you’d rather stay, I wouldn’t mind the extra help.  It’s nothing glamorous like the housefoxes or Navy shipfoxes, but it’s honest work; I can even pay a fair wage for someone skilled like you.” Without so much as an efforted grunt, Big Gid rolled the cargo-laden cart from its lodgings and down the path to the main street.

_ Well, I’ll likely be gone as soon as I go to sleep, since that’s how long the previous dream lasted, _ Judy pondered, taking a seat on a front corner of the cart, “I really don’t know where I’ll go after today,” she admitted, “but I wouldn’t mind a safe place to lay my head until I figure it out.”

He smiled over his shoulder, “Shucks, I can give ya’ that,” and snickered as he walked.

Judy watched Big Gid’s frame ripple through his coat as he pulled the cart.   _ It’s like a lava lamp _ , she mused and then sensed her thoughts drift to the real world Gideon and wondered if his counterpart had the same scars.  Before even the hint of a buckling groan, she shook her head and decided to do some sleuthing, “So what’s Miss Hopps like? Since you’re her student and all, you probably know her better than any other fox in the Burrow,” suggested Judy _. _

“Oh, she’s real nice and kind and pretty, and such a voice, too.  I’ll definitely need to take you to hear her sing,” he began, grinning wider so that it made his ears perk, “She doesn’t even want payment for the lessons, but I make her sweets every morning anyway because like I said, it’s an awful big risk what she’s doin’, so it’s the least I can do.”  He then sighed wistfully, “But  _ I _ don’t know her best, that’d be her housefox, goes by ‘Nicolaus Wilde’,” Big Gid admitted, “He tends the Hopps Manor garden and whatnot.”  He nearly jumped from his fur when Judy hopped onto his shoulders, but not because her weight was of any consequence, and craned his neck to glance up through shaggy bangs, “What’re you doin’ up there?”

_ Real Gid would never let me do this, either~  But as I suspected, it sounds like Nick is my best bet to find Mister Briar’s identity, but maybe I can get some information about his involvement in the fox community,  _ Judy figured, “I’ve heard that name before, ‘Nicolaus Wilde’,” she posed, legs dangling over his chest and paws folded atop his head, “Doesn’t he write Miss Hopps’s songs?”

“You’re slyer than I thought, Jude,” smirked Big Gid, and then returned his eyes to the road, “Mister Wilde’s a mangy rabbit, so that puts him right above foxes in terms of other bunnies, but his  _ music _ puts him right back up there with Miss Hopps herself.  Well, I guess the name sounded good to that flower-sniffing fox, so he goes by it, too.”

_ Gid’s playing dumb, but I don’t have time for that, _ Judy determined, and leaned in to whisper at his ear, “I heard there’s only  _ one _ ‘Nicolaus Wilde’, and he ain’t a mangy rabbit,” she dared, “Is that true?”

Big Gid came to a full stop and re-craned his neck to study her, “You’re  _ way  _ slyer than I thought… you ain’t one of those Bloodwood witches, are ya’?”

_ Ooh, that  _ would _ be cool, but as far as I know, I don’t have any witchcraft to back such a claim.  Time for a gambit _ , she thought, “I heard about it from... Sissy, I think?  It didn’t really make sense until now, though.”  _ She seems like a vixen in the know and might be well connected if she has to deal with an audience of foxes on a bi-weekly basis. _

He snorted derisively and then shrugged his shoulders to renew the cart’s momentum, “No wonder you showed up in  _ my  _ storeroom, must’ve heard my name tossed about and figured it a good place to find food.  I guess me and her need to have another chat about privacy.”

_ Hold the phone, if this guy’s “Big Gid” and she’s “Sissy”, then why do we have a fox  _ known _ as “Nicolaus Wilde”?  _ Judy came to realize, _ Could it be a pseudonym, rather than a nickname?  I always thought that foxes used nicknames for fun, but now that I think about it it’s frequent, insistent, even. _  Judy thought back to the visiting Hexward bunnies in Preds’ Corner with a brighter look in her eyes,  _ They referred to Nick and Esther as “Mr. and Mrs. Fox”, but what if that  _ wasn’t _ species insensitivity, what if it actually has historical roots?  If foxes kept their identities hidden, going so far as to crossdress to disguise themselves, then they surely wouldn’t go throwing their names about, especially not around mammals with such acute hearing; bunnies could only know foxes as “Mr. and Mrs. Fox” out of necessity. _

“Why don’t you want your name bandied about?” Judy asked, leaning over on his head a bit more.

“Same as every other fox,” he answered simply enough, glancing upwards at her, “Ask anyone and they’ll say my kitchen’s open for those that need it, but I still have a business to run so unless they give back in some way-”

“No,” she interrupted, “I mean when it comes to bunnies.  Mr. Wilde doesn’t seem too worried about it.”

His eyebrows arched in a patient grimace, as though trying to explain something obvious and awkward to a child.  “You see all these foxes? First, they’re the names they know each other by, and then there’s the name their family gives ‘em, and finally, there’s their  _ secret _ name which only  _ they _ know, something they choose when the time is right.  You prob’ly don’t have secret names where you’re from since you don’t live under bunny law.”

_ Curiouser and curiouser _ … “What happens under bunny law?”

“If a bunny knows your name, then the queen can control you and there’s nothing you can do about it,” he explained rather matter-of-factly, “So, to protect ourselves, us foxes have secret names; if a bunny don’t know your secret name, then you can skirt around bunny law, which makes you safe in the Burrow.”

“And…  _ outside _ the Burrow?” she wondered aloud.

“It’s dang’rous outside the Burrow, Jude, and it’s safe in here so long as you’re sly about it,” he grinned, “You’re pretty smart, so you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

_ Well, I’ve only got a day to get enough of a hang of it so I don’t hang myself.  I’d rather not find out what happens if I die in a drug-induced coma-fantasy _ , she shuddered,  _ but that’s worst case scenario stuff.  Discreetly get the info and evac while I still can, that’s the plan, _ and relaxed atop Big Gid’s shaggy head.

 

* * *

 

Judy enjoyed the ambient noise in the nearby houses, waving to nameless, imaginary foxes filling in the corners of a make-believe world, but even so, they did little, subtle things that gave them a spark of life.  She heard soft songs that reminded her of bunny lullabies, or stories drifting up from open windows with names or deeds she thought she recognized, and even interactions some of the kits did reminisced her own childhood,  _ It’s like taking a stroll down memory lane _ , she marveled.  At times, Judy gazed to the bright stars overhead, wondering if they seemed a bit  _ more  _ because of her nocturnal eyes, or if it was simply because the dream world made them more luminous.  For a while, she let herself be at peace with it all.

A river marked the edge of the fox neighborhood from the lower class rabbit houses and spanning it was a wide, stone bridge of excellent masonry, perhaps the most intricate and gaudy piece of architecture that side of the divide.  Eyeballing it, a dozen foxes could stand fingertip-to-fingertip and still not reach over either edge (which didn’t have protective walls to keep anything from falling off). It was not the most heavily guarded area, except for watch posts on the rabbit-side, for only the luckiest and stealthiest of foxes could sneak across such a bridge without proper cover.

“Alright, we’re coming up to the Burrow proper, but before we do I need to make a quick stop.  You see that fire and the pair of foxes at it?” Big Gid pointed out, parking himself to the side of the road but still several paces from where he directed.

“It looks like they’ve got something roasting on skewers,” Judy observed, sitting upright and using his head to get a boost in height.  It was then she smelled it, that mouth-watered aroma of roasting fish with mushrooms and carrots sprinkled in spices she could barely recognize; its allure stood the nimble gray vixen on Big Gid’s sturdy shoulders so she might lean in.  Never could the smell of fish kick her taste buds into overdrive as it did then, on the contrary, it usually made her gag, but “ _ Oh… _ ” she swooned with a deep inhale, until “Oh!” she yelped, tumbling forward over Big Gid’s head.  If the larger fox wasn’t already stopped and cracking his knuckles in a shoulder-hunching stretch, Judy would surely be in the dirt at his feet.

He looked down at her, indeed, quite a clumsy sight sprawled in his outstretched arms, feet nearly curled over her shoulders with a puffed tail.  She looked up at him, bewildered with self-disappointment at making such a display of herself. Big Gid laughed, righted Judy on the ground, and then pushed the cap over her face as he shoved a bundle of torn receipts into her paws.  “Two skewers, and tell ‘em they’re for Big Gid,” he instructed, turning her about to usher towards the fire.

Judy corrected the cap while hugging the ball of paper to her chest,  _ Sweet cheese and crackers, it’s a good thing none of this is real and I won’t have to live with that, _ she frowned, stiffly walking from the cart,  _ I should really stop using Gid as a jungle gym. _  She approached something of a small courtyard bound in a waist-high brick wall, with the height difference made up by cast-iron fence work.  It took all of her considerable willpower to retain countenance the nearer she got to the savory scents of barbecue and the last shreds of self-control not to drool when standing adjacent to the firepit.

“Mornin’, cousin,” said the thicker of two gruff-faced foxes sitting around the blaze; he was missing an eye and wore a patch to cover the scar.  The other, likewise, lacked an eye but didn’t bother to cover it, and stirred the fire with a metal poker where a paw should be. Between them and behind the fire were two barrels, one with the handle of a ladle hanging out while the other likely held fish.  It also seemed that there were some odds-and-ends of crates and bags in a handcart further back.

_ Oh… I guess they were caught reading, and  _ he _ was caught writing,  _ “Good morning,” Judy responded cheerily, and promptly added, “cousins!”  Looking between either disinterested fox, she then asked, “Would it be alright if I tossed these in?”

“Sure, but first tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” challenged the eye-patched fox, scratching at his bare chest in idle expectation.

“Oh, umm…” Judy pondered,  _ Aren’t they part of my brain?  More so than Gid because they might be one of those vague, background mental constructs, so they should know everything I know.  Unless, there was something they  _ shouldn’t _ know as foxes in the Burrow _ , and then grinned, “Did you know that rabbits enjoy the smell of ivy in their potpourri?”

The gruff foxes exchanged a quirked brow, and then the first smirked with a permitting gesture at the fire, “Tha’ll do.”  Judy set the incriminating papers to burn, watching as it flared up against the skewers and reflexively licked her chops. There were numerous skewers cooking, some even sitting off to the side over warm coals, as though on display in a shop window.

“Hungry, cous’?” asked the other gruff fox (though by the pitch and timbre of their voice, sounded more female than male).

“Yes,” Judy returned, blinking from the mesmeric dance of flame beneath each sizzling kebab, and then remembered, “Two, please, for Big Gid.”

“Yeah?” said the one with the eyepatch, and craned his neck to peer through the cast iron fence work to spot a hulking figure leaning patiently on his cart, “A’ight, let him know there’s a ship comin’ in at sundown, and we could use the help unloading.  Same goes for you.”

“Me?”

“We’ll need every paw we can get,” said the gruff vixen, and sat back on a rock with a tap of her red-tipped poker against the fire pit, “It’s a  _ big _ shipment, ain’t that right?”

“ _ Really _ big,” he confirmed.

_ Oh, this could be a clue!  Sundown representing closure, and what’s delivered could represent discovered information, maybe not about Mister Briar specifically, but at least to the case, _ Judy smiled, nearly bouncing, “You can count on us, cousins,” and picked up a skewer in each paw, careful not to grab any part directly over the coals, “At sundown you say; which dock?”

“At  _ the _ dock,” emphasized the eye-patch fox, reaching down to pull out a handful of blueberries from a nearby satchel, one of which he flicked high and caught in his mouth.  “Say ‘ah’,” he instructed, readying the second blueberry for Judy.

“Thank you, bu-” she declined with all mustered politeness, but stopped short when an accurate blueberry flew right past her lips and onto her tongue.  A chuckle was shared between the gruff foxes as Judy snapped her mouth shut, and then stuck out her tongue with the blueberry sitting at the end. Their watching made Judy a bit anxious, but she slurped her tongue back in to spit the berry high in the air and catch it again in her mouth.  Swiftly, Judy munched and took a bow to their momentary applause (hers was more clapping of the knee).

“Yer all right, cous’,” laughed the gruff vixen.

“See you at sundown,” he said with a smirking click of his tongue.

Judy nodded with an affirming grunt and hurried back to a waiting Gid, savoring the blueberry taste on her tongue,  _ I still got it, just like my berry-picking days,  _ she beamed, but then cringed,  _ or that one time at BU… I really hope  _ that _ isn’t dredged up while I’m here. _

“Lookit you scampering over, all eager like,” he teased, holding out a paw to accept the scrumptious breakfast, “What’s the job?”

“Big ship.  Sundown.  _ The _ dock,” she bullet-pointed, and then handed off Big Gid’s kebab before hopping onto the cart.

“Mmh,” he grunted and tugged off a bit of the fish to munch, “Sundown, huh?  Must be a special delivery, because  _ nuthin’ _ comes in at sundown unless it is.”

_ Promising, _ “Why, because twilight is when the bunny and fox shifts overlap?”

“You could say that,” he shrugged, and finished off the fish with a savoring moan, “You prob’ly don’t know this because bunnies don’t like talking about it, but the waters around the Burrow suffer from pirate attacks if the sun ain’t up, so the earliest or latest anything’s done at the dock is when the sun is touching the horizon.  Ships don’t cut it that close without good reason.”

Judy gasped inwardly with excitement,  _ This is amazing!  Navy versus pirates... representing my body's natural defenses against the toxin, it has to be!  But what about the rest...? Hmm, day and night -- the known and unknown, maybe? The fact the rabbits don't want to mention that such a problem exists, but the foxes will, has to be significant… could it have something to do with the toxin having so different, and worse, an effect on rabbits than on foxes?  Or maybe it's because rabbits just don't want to think about being prone to drug use (not that I would ever do that, of course). The symbolism is everywhere, I just have to figure out what it all means! For now though, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.  _ “A pirate?” Judy feigned concern, “Which pirate is this?”

He glanced up while munching his mushroom, “You ever heard of Bag-o’-Bones?”

_ No…  _ she thought and “...No?” she said.

“A pirate captain, real scourge of the seas,” he continued, licking sauce from his fingers, “No one’s  _ ever _ faced him and lived to tell the tale, so how he looks is a bunch of hearsay.  But ev’ryone says his head’s only a skull with dull red eyes and sharp teeth, even sharper than  _ these _ ,” he explained, and pulled back his lips to show his own fangs, “which he uses to eat the meat off the bones of his victims _. _ ”

“Eww…”  _ What b-movie did  _ that _ crawl out of?  _ she grimaced,  _ This skeletal pirate captain isn’t ringing  _ any _ bells at all, which is a shame because I figured he’d be significant.  Why would a predator bother filing down their own fangs, anyway? It can’t be any scarier than rows of fangs already are, and even with cutting edge periodontics it’d be an excruciating process.  Something’s not adding up here. _  “Why don’t bunnies talk about him, is it because he keeps eluding the Navy?” asked Judy, and then snapped her fingers, “Or maybe his name is cursed.”

“Nope, none of that,” Big Gid explained as he pulled off the roasted carrot, giving it a quick blow before popping the whole thing into his mouth, “Well, maybe his name’s cursed, but it’s ‘cause he’s a  _ bunny _ .  I heard about it from a friend of mine that saw him way off-”

“Wait a minute,” Judy sighed despite herself, “Is Bag-o’-Bones missing a foot and half-an-ear?  Carries around a meathook and a bonesaw? Smells like death warmed over?”

“Oh ho, so you  _ have _ heard of him?”

“As a  _ ghost story _ when I was a kit,” she scoffed, though carefully, remembering the finer details if she actually grew up a fox, “Whether he was a pirate  _ captain  _ or not was up for debate and wild speculation.”   _ Dang, it’s just some lingering childhood fear of the boogierabbit.  Got my hopes up and everything,  _ she brooded,  _ I mean, he might still be significant, but I don’t need to go chasing any loose threads.  Get Mister Briar’s name and get out; no lollygagging. _  She then continued at Big Gid’s inquisitive smile, “Except we called him ‘Hector Redbeard’, because of the  _ blood _ dripping down his chin,” Judy dramatized, and then stuck out a leg with a wiggle of her toes, “Or ‘Unlucky Hect’, on account of his missing foot.”

The larger fox shrugged and smirked, “Jus’ ‘cause it’s a ghost story doesn’t mean it ain’t real,” he said offhandedly, and with a flick of his wrist drove the skewer into the ground, “His name  _ is _ ‘Hector’ I hear, so it’s prob’ly the same bunny.  Best finish up, Jude, moonlight’s a-wasting.”

_ Odd thing to say, considering the lack of a moon.  It must still be below the horizon, _ Judy assumed, and pulled the carrot off to follow suit by flicking her own skewer into the ground (but ate the roasted root vegetable in sensible bites).   _ I don’t recognize any of these constellations, either, yet isn’t the Burrow supposed to be a mirror of Bunnyburrow?  Unless it’s actually a distant kingdom, even in a different hemisphere than Zootopia, _ she pondered this development, listening to Big Gid hum a cheery tune while pulling the cart along, _ Actually, ol’ Unlucky Hect might provide some insight on that if I can figure out his geographical influence.  Aunt Lovey did live in the pre-modern kingdom of Forestdwell, if I recall correctly, but I don’t recall it suffering from chronic pirate attacks.  It will be a while before I talk with Nick, so tugging this loose thread a little bit won’t hurt. _

“Since we’re not yet in the midst of bunnies, what else can you tell me about Bag-o’-Bones?” she asked, “We’ll be on the waterfront at sundown after all, so I want to be prepared in case anything unexpected happens.”

His shoulders shook in a deep chuckle, “No need to worry yourself about  _ that _ , the Navy’ll keep him away, but since you asked I don’t mind sayin’ that he won’t go near foxes if he can help it.”

“If he doesn’t like foxes, what’s there to be scared of?  The Burrow’s  _ teeming _ with foxes,” pressed Judy.

“It’s a… whatcha-call-it… a double-edged sword, yeah.  He’s wary of foxes, more so than your typical bunny, so he won’t let a fox out of his sight if there’s one nearby, but also wants to get rid of us.   _ All _ of us.  Seeing a fox’s face could stay him, especially if he thinks there’s another skulking about, but he won’t hesitate to attack one with its back turned.”

She sighed in smug realization, “So  _ that _ ’s why the Navy has ‘shipfoxes’, and naturally, the night vision is useful below deck.”

“Yep!  O’course, bunnies wouldn’t  _ dare _ put a fox’s face on any of their sails or ships, so when they got shipfoxes they run up a smaller flag under the royal flag to ward off Bag-o’-Bones,” elaborated Big Gid with a merry air, “‘Watch out, we got foxes!’ it should say, but it don’t.”

Judy couldn’t help but laugh at the prospect, but did so with enough composure that it remained in the realm of amusement, rather than mockery,  _ It’s a flag designed to convey a simple, easily recognizable meaning, so if anything it would have a-  _ “A fox’s face…” she muttered.

“Right on a shield, like a fancy coat-of-arms, it is,” Big Gid said.

_ A fox’s face on a shield to ward off Unlucky Hect? _ Judy bubbled,  _ Hect’s… ward.  Hect’s ward. Hexward!  It’s Hexward! Hexward is involved and I need to find out how!  And why!  _ Excitably, she fumbled around at her pants pockets to pull out a notebook bound in cured corn-husk; gripping a rudimentary charcoal pencil, the full force of Judy’s police investigation muscle memory hovered above the paper.  Her blood froze, her bones froze, and every nerve went numb as her whole body trembled. She had a notebook. With writing.  _ Her _ writing.  Her  _ thoughts _ :  “Nicolaus Wilde: pen name?”, “Night Howler drug designed for bunnies”, “Foxes call each other  cousin ”, to name a few.

Judy snapped the notebook shut and shoved it into her coat pocket, whipping her head around while holding it closed.  Every strand of fur stood on end from the base of her skull, down her spine, and to the tip of her tail.  _ Where did I get this thing?  When did I write these notes?  _ she nigh-panicked, heartbeat inside her ears, _ I can’t keep this notebook, it’ll get me in trouble; it could get  _ Gid _ in trouble!   _ Judy yearned for the distancing fire over her shoulder, “Hey Big Gid,” she strained for normalcy, “shouldn’t we have returned those skewers?”

“Not unless you want another blueberry,” he snickered, “kits gather those up and wash ‘em, teaches ‘em responsibility.”  Lo’ and behold, a small fox plucked the sharpened sticks from the ground and then scampered to the small courtyard.

“Oh… yes, good for them, yes,” Judy ceded, and kept the opening of her coat cinched, eyes darting at the looming bunny houses,  _ It’s okay, I’m okay, no one saw the notebook and no one  _ will _ see it, all I need to do it keep it hidden until I find another, conveniently placed fire.  Or… a stove, like Nick’s stove. Great, good, I only need to survive until we get to the end of Gid’s delivery route where I can burn this notebook without arousing suspicion.  Super. _  Luckily, Judy’s coat had a single button to fasten.  She did so.

_ But what if… what if I  _ can’t  _ get rid of it?  _ she continued to dread,  _ Those notes appeared on their own, and I didn’t even know I  _ had  _ this until a second ago.  Even if I burn it, it might not go away.  But what if it  _ does _ burn and everything I learned goes up in smoke with it?  I could wake up and remember  _ nothing _ , then this would all be for naught.  Or worse… this could represent my waning consciousness!  What if destroying it traps me down here? I would be in a vegetative state for the rest of my life.  I have no idea what could happen, and no real way to test it. _  The notebook was solid gold in her pocket for its weight and value, and each step towards the guard posts on the other end of the bridge weighed it heavier still. _  So, I’ll take a page from Nick’s playbook and hide it until it’s not a problem anymore.  It’s only for a day, and I can survive a day, no problem. _

“Remember, Jude: shy and withdrawn,” Big Gid reminded over his shoulder, to which Judy jostled from her introspection to grip the coat closer, “Okay, that’s pretty good, but you might wanna relax a bit, or else you’ll worry the bunnies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Or maybe it’s only how bunnies see predators…] is a nod to what Bogo said to her in the Rainforest District about "any aggressive predator".
> 
> I came up with the name "Forestdwell" very late into Brave and decided it appropriate to include here since I never actually named the place while writing it.
> 
> Hector Redbeard is named after Captain Hector Barbados from "Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl", whose last name is based on a historical pirate, meaning "Redbeard".
> 
> A shout-out to NieveLion who helped me with great swathes of the grammar and sentence structure in this chapter (more so than my usual fare, he practically reworked entire paragraphs to make them work; for example, I tried to string together "there they're, their" in a single sentence in an attempt to be clever but he corrected me).
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	22. Chapter 22

_ I suppose it’s better  _ I _ found out about this notebook now instead of someone  _ else _ finding it later, _ Judy rationalized, discreetly tracing through the fabric of her coat at the forbidden item tucked away in her breast pocket,  _ All it would take is one bunny to discover it and I can kiss my paw goodbye, and I don’t want to find out if I could lose its use after waking up.  _  She crossed one leg over the other and rested an elbow to her upturned knee, “Right, ‘shy, withdrawn, relaxed’, got it,” she promptly agreed, “I guess I’m still a bit anxious.  What if someone recognizes me?”

“That’s what the cap’s for,” Big Gid assured, “Also, give it a tip in greeting, bunnies really like that.  I would do it m’self, but I don’t care for hats,” he explained with a shake of his shaggy bangs, “So, the Nightwatch up here will check under the sheet and make sure I’m only bringin’ in produce.  They know me, so as long as you don’t draw attention to yourself everything should go smooth,” and then added in a whisper, “A crate will ‘fall out the back’, if you catch my drift, first one on the left.”

_ That would explain why it had cider in it, _ Judy recalled, and centered her core with a deep breath,  _ Gid’s got this under control, so follow his lead and there won’t be anything to worry about. _  She set the cap a little further over her eyes when Big Gid sagged his head, watching his gait sway from sure footing to subtle, oafish lumbering.  Judy re-evaluated her own posture, letting her shoulders hunch and legs uncross, bracing the edge of the cart on which she sat with her knees brought up together.  When the lightly armored bunnies came into view, Judy found that the notebook’s weight heightened her senses as it kept fear of discovery to the forefront of her mind.

Exiting from the guard station and onto the bridge, a scruffy rabbit of faded ginger fur approached beneath a cone of lantern light.  “Mornin’, Big Git; who’s this taggin’ along?”

“He’s my cousin,” Big Gid explained in a slow, nodding drawl and then smiled at Jude with endearing simplicity.  Judy glanced up and quietly grunted with a return nod to the guard, even tipping her cap to greet.

“Yea, you all are ‘cousins’, aren’t ya’,” chuckled the rabbit, and then turned to the open door frame to call through a cupped palm, “Oi’, sluggards, time to earn your pay.”  Out filed two more guards after some reluctant shuffling, mahogany-furred rabbits with varying off-white splotches, similarly armored and armed with bludgeons.

Judy didn’t move until she was instructed to, and only did so carefully with her arms held meekly in front, but made sure to stay near the cart.   _ Routine police inspection, you’ve seen this a thousand times,  _ she reminded herself, paying close attention to Big Gid’s lax composure and then glanced to the ginger guard.  Standing on the ground, it was odd to see an adult bunny so much shorter than her,  _ His ears barely reach my chin, _ she noticed,  _ I mean, it’s not like I haven’t met smaller mammals before, or smaller rabbits for that matter, but  _ this _ feels so surreal.  I really am on the outside looking in, aren’t I, being a fox? _  Her mind began to drift, _ I wonder if there’s the start of an imaginary plague going around to represent the spreading drug- _

“You,” the head guard announced on approach with commanding authority.  Judy snapped to attention (and only managed to bite back a disciplined “Sir!”) when he gestured with his bludgeon, “Who did you hail from?”

_ Wait, “who”?  _ she blinked, and peeked at the ginger rabbit from under the bill of her cap, “What do you mean… Sir?” Judy said, noticing the subtle shift of Big Gid’s head at the brewing inquisition.  Her paws lifted for a twiddling of the fingers, figuring it a fairly fox thing to do.

“The master or captain you served,” he explained in distinguishable patience, “No street fox  _ I _ ’ve seen carries such poise as you, so you surely served in a house or on a ship before  _ this _ ,” and waved at the grocer and his cart.

_ Oh, biscuits _ , “I… didn’t serve  _ any _ one-ah!” she winced at a swift flick of the guard’s bludgeon on her wrist.  Her head snapped up to glare at him but ducked her face before crossing that precarious threshold, sufficing to rub the swatted spot,  _ Ow… I don’t think it’ll bruise, but still, ow _ .

“Each lie earns you a hit,” he said matter-of-factly with a  _ tsk-tsk _ of the baton, “Bear in mind that runaways are dealt with  _ harshly _ , Mr. Fox, and deserters more so.”

“What I mean is,” Judy said, clearing her throat to speak softly, “it wasn’t in any  _ official _ capacity, Sir.  I woke up in the hold of a ship and worked until I got back to port.  Ask my cousin, I fall asleep in the oddest places and get in the  _ worst _ trouble because of it,” and then looked up to Big Gid for support, who craned his neck with a nodding grunt of confirmation.

The head guard groaned his dissatisfaction, “ _ Whose _ ship?”

_ Okay, Dawson said (well, didn’t outright  _ deny _ ) that this might be like lucid dreaming, and clearly things can change if only  _ I _ know about it, _ raced Judy’s mind, thinking back to her solitude in the storehouse with the momentary Night Howlers, or the fact she manifested a notebook in her pocket while on a dark, otherwise empty bridge.   _ Therefore, maybe I can make something fit into this dream history if it’s believable enough,  _ “Captain… Bogo,” she tried as calmly as she could,  _ “The best lies hold a nugget of truth”, says Nick, and I  _ did _ “protect and serve” under Chief Bogo. _

“Captain ‘ _ Bogo _ ’,” repeated the unconvinced ginger.  Judy stiffened when his bludgeon swung and struck the stone of the bridge in a quick succession of taps, “Bogo… Bogo…” he pondered before addressing the guards in the cart, “Oi’!  Why does ‘Captain Bogo’ sound familiar?”

_ So far, so good _ , breathed Judy _. _

“‘Bogo’?” repeated one of the mahogany rabbits, leaning on the rail, “I recall Captain  _ Beau _ regard, so ‘Bogo’ would be the term of endearment from his crew.”

_ Awesome,  _ she thought loftily,  _ let’s hear it for that lucid dreaming article I read in the doctor’s waiting room. _

“Amiable fellow, he was,” said the other mahogany rabbit, “Until the sea swallowed him up in that storm over a month ago.”

Judy flinched in momentary sadness at the news that someone she called into being was fated to such an unfortunate end.   _ It’s only a dream, he wasn’t real…  It’s only a dream, he wasn’t real… _ she repeated calmly, knowing she could not let the safeguards buckle under the weight of negativity.

“Oh, yes, Captain Beauregard…” muttered the head guard, “Frightfully tragic, but no sailor worth his salt dares set sail on a Friday, much less a  _ thirteenth _ ,” he shuddered.  The other two raised crossed fingers on each paw to hold their breath until the head guard promptly knocked three times on the wooden cart; then, and only then, did the guards exhale for regular respiration.  The ginger guard studied Judy a moment, “You’re quite the lucky fox, despite unusual sleeping habits,” he commented without a hint of the recent dread.

“All clear, Sir,” said the other mahogany rabbit, also without any of the recent dread, as he and his fellow guard hoisted the cider-laden crate with a gentle clink of glass.  After removing the first crate on the left, they refastened the sheet and Judy hopped back onto the cart.

“A good morn Big Git, Mr. Fox,” said the ginger rabbit as the mahoganies hauled their delivery back to the guard station, “Take care where you lay your head,” he then mused, to which she tipped her cap and smiled politely.

Well from the cone of lantern light, the foxes disappeared into a gap of shadows between the bridge and the first lamplit lane.  Though the bridge was wide, it was clear to Judy that anyone with a cart couldn’t simply roll on over and into town; where the bridge ended, the wheel-friendly, stone-lined path made a ‘T’, stopped by a raised area that followed the gentle slope of the city.  Pedestrians were unimpeded thanks to a single flight of short stairs and sturdy, narrow dividers, but drivers or cart-pullers traversed around and up a shallow ramp to enter the streets.

Big Gid scanned wide and over his shoulder before speaking, “Aren’t  _ you  _ full of surprises,” he said in his normal speaking voice, if marginally quieter yet more excited, “All this time I thought you couldn’t fib your way out of a bag, and there you go foolin’ the first group of bunnies you come across.  I prob’ly would’ve believed you m’self if I didn’t know better.”

Judy couldn’t help but beam at the adulation.  Honesty is an unfaltering core belief of hers, but she also knew that when the police force required covert operations, Judy and Nick proved themselves the go-to team to get the job done, and that required a certain  _ finesse _ with facts.   _ Poor Captain Beauregard, though, even if he was only a mental construct, _ huffed Judy, returning to her withdrawn sitting position when Big Gid staggered to oafishness in the gold aura of oil street lighting,  _ Everything has a cost, it seems, and meddling sinks me a bit deeper into my own mind.  I somehow need to survive the day, yet it’s not even dawn… _  She sighed, gazing at the overhead stars.

It happened in an instant, as such things often do, when two falling stars crossed paths as she stared skyward.  The frequent imagery throughout her youngest years lost a bit of its mystique, but seeing the simple flicker of lights hinted that she knew things would work out somehow.   _ Yeah _ , she brightened,  _ I can do this.  I just need to stay true to myself and think positive, _ and then allowed a smirk,  _ Luckily enough, it’s  _ all _ in my head. _

 

* * *

 

If the trip through the fox neighborhood and a brush with the bridge guards taught Judy anything, it was that she needed to  _ think _ not only like a fox from the Burrow but like a fox,  _ period _ .  Everything she observed from Esther growing up and Nick in the past several months pointed to one thing: smug nonchalance.  Whatever happened was according to some subtle planning and manipulation on their part, even if it seemed like a tight situation from unforeseen circumstances; at least, that’s the kind of confidence a fox projects.

The hardest instinct to ignore was her hyper-vigilance, but once Judy accepted that her ears were not a rabbit’s yet her nose was keener by far, the radius of her attention shrunk to her immediate surroundings.  The oil of the lamplights, the flowers on a windowsill, the trash in the gutter, even other foxes working in the alleyways, all painted with olfactory senses. The transition unwound her, she found, since no longer need she strain her ears to compensate, for what was beyond their scope held no dire concern.  Tangentially, she needn’t flare her nostrils and inhale to receive information from the unseen; it simply… happened.

Likewise, the deliveries simply happened, one after the other, one house or business to the next; very “smooth” as Big Gid put it.  For the most part, it involved Judy hopping down with a full crate and picking up an empty crate to replace it (since each were bunny-sized, she could be off and on without Big Gid even needing to apply the cart’s brake), but there was the time she met a homely rabbit at the door, weathered by life but standing tall despite it.   _ I wonder who she is _ , Judy thought and gave a tip of her cap when the maternal bunny reeled in surprise at the new face.  The apron-clad bunny leaned out as far as she dared to catch sight of Big Gid, and then sighed in quiet relief to Judy as she picked up the empty crate with the most polite smile she could manage.   _ To be fair, she’s never met me before,  _ Judy pondered when the delivery was carried inside,  _ Even if I were a bunny, I bet she’d still be wary.  Guess I need to work on my heart-melting. _

There, with the last delivery and the gray of dawn diluting the sky, Judy and Big Gid found themselves approaching the kingdom’s higher tier.  It always loomed in the distance, but with the lightening backdrop of fading stars its own magnificent architecture set the standard for life of the more fortunate.  From the higher vantage point of the still gently sloping city, Judy allowed herself a sweep of where they’d been. She could see the fox neighborhood to one side, and at the other, she saw the harbor with some smaller ships visible and moored, yet one, enormous dock on which a grand navy vessel returned from its nocturnal patrol.  Its snowy white sails were furled and anchor dropped, already secured to its berthing after a long night of protecting the kingdom.

“Hmm…” Judy pondered aloud as she recalled something Esther mentioned many years ago; perhaps some obscure information gathered in that time could shed some light on the subject.   _ It will have to wait, _ Judy anxiously realized as the cart rolled to level ground once again,  _ This is neither the time nor place to ask about Piberius Savage _ , because Big Gid halted the cart before they reached the top of the ramp, craning his neck with pinned back ears as he peeked over the crest.  Likewise, Judy sat up with discretion to gander at what stayed the large fox.

Fortunately, there were no gatekeepers, much less a gate to keep, but the larger houses and tall walls projected a certain intimidating presence which dissuaded trespassers and deviants; the atmosphere was a palpable defense, and the armored constabulary was a tangible defense.  No less than seven rabbits marched down the street: one held a lantern at the front, the second rabbit held a large book, while a third held a standard on which bells quietly chimed (she could not see what the banner depicted, since they were marching away), and finally the others simply marched with a sword at one hip, a quiver of bolts on the other, and a loaded crossbow at the ready.

Big Gid dared not breathe until they lock-stepped out of sight and the ominous chimes faded from earshot.  Judy leaned in to whisper when his shoulders relaxed, “Was that the Blessed Court?”

“Aye,” he whispered in a nod, “They walk the streets before dawn to let the other bunnies know it’s safe.  It’s always at the same time, so my deliveries  _ should _ happen right after they finish, but I guess we were early today.”

“And you worried we’d be  _ late _ ,” teased Judy and clapped his back, to which he smirked over his shoulder.

“You watch that cheek, Jude, or else I’ll hafta take off the kit gloves,” he warned.

“Promises, promises,” she grinned.  They shared a muted chuckle before rolling onward to level ground.

It certainly felt like a different city altogether, from the architecture to the very air, rich with the smell of flowery gardens and cleanliness.  Housefoxes moved quietly beyond private gates and fences, finely garbed and well-groomed such to designate them as employees of the higher class bunnies.  Big Gid did not venture too far through the well-to-do streets, rather skirting along the outer edge unless absolutely necessary.

It was then that Judy recognized parts of the area, like  _ déjà vu _ except recalled from when she (as Lovey) rode in Master Hopps’s motor carriage to the concert hall.   _ Which must be out towards the other side _ , she reasoned,  _ that would explain why those streets were completely new to me, and why I didn’t see any theatres on the way here.  It feels like only yesterday, yet it was an entirely different life. Speaking of the Hoppses, it looks like they’re the only customers of Gid’s in this area _ , Judy noticed, spotting the last crate amidst its emptied kin, joined only by the still warm package of specialty tarts.

It was  _ then _ that Judy recognized the manor and its surrounding hedge, the gold of dawn barely cresting the tip of its roof.  Not until that moment did she truly feel on the outside looking in, and each heavy step worsened a repulsion like magnetic poles.   _ Will… will I see Lovey?  What will happen? Will we connect somehow?  Will she know? Oh my gosh, how could it not occur to me until  _ now _ that my dream-double will be walking about without me?  I blocked it out, is what I did. I thought nothing would come of it, but here we are, almost at the scullery entrance.  I can’t let  _ any _ one here see my eyes, they’ll know in an instant who I am, _ and so tugged down her cap until it nearly sat on her nose.

“Okay, Jude, last one,” whispered Big Gid, “Normally I give Miss Hopps’s breakfast to Miss Tillie herself, but since we’re early I figure we can set it at the door as usual.  I don’t wanna dally if I can help it.”

“You got it,” Judy complied,  _ No doubt, you’re probably still wary of what happened with Grav a week ago, which I don’t blame you if you are _ .  She then lifted the corner of the sheet to hoist out the final crate, careful to balance the special package on top.  Swiftly and quietly, while Big Gid watched from the end of the walkway, she switched out the empty crate for the full one, eyes on the door for any signs of movement.   _ Phew, all clear _ , she thought, and scampered back to the cart to set the crate upside-down with the rest, “Okay, let’s skedaddle,” she prompted.

He quirked a brow over his shoulder and rolled onward, “Who set  _ your _ tail on fire?” he asked, “Looks like you done stole somethin’.”

_ I certainly hope not, _ but she grinned and shrugged, “Seeing that knightly patrol got me in a state,” Judy whispered and then clenched her jaw when she heard the drawl lacing her speech.  She nodded towards the manor, “And if  _ you _ think I look like Miss Hopps, can you imagine what  _ they  _ would think?”

His eyebrows arched severely over a frown, “Oh, tha’s a good point.  Okay, we’re done here, so skedaddlin’ is what we’re doin’.” They only just disappeared around the corner before stopping to the sound of the rustling hedge; Big Gid’s nostrils flared as a tall figure skulked into view, boasting a charcoal black traveler’s jacket and bowler hat.

“Shave and smoke me, what great luck,” hushed a starkly familiar voice, vibrant green eyes cast up from beneath the short bill of his hat while he cinched a striped scarf around his neck.

“Nic?” Big Gid wondered aloud.

“Nick!” Judy chimed simultaneously.

He bounded up onto the cart to sit at the front corner opposite of her as soon as he appeared.  “Not a moment too soon or to waste, cousins, we’d do well to make ourselves scarce from the premises,” urged the gardener with a shoo-ing of his paw, “And if it’s not so great a hassle, might we stop by the theatre?  This is news I’d rather heard from me than the grapevine.”

“O’course,” agreed Big Gid, and lurched forward with a steady pace, though perhaps only a notch higher than his earlier lumbering, “but you gotta say what all’s the matter.”

He swiveled his head once more before gesturing Judy closer, pointed inside the cart, and then fluidly lay atop the overturned crates with his hat held in one paw.  Judy followed suit, but kept her cap secured atop her head. “Miss Hopps awoke in the dead of night with a  _ ghastly  _ scream, and then fainted with acute brain fever,” he began in a whisper, to which Big Gid’s ears swiveled back to listen, “Master and Madam Hopps are in such a state, but were courteous enough to announce near an open window their plans to call in healers.”

Big Gid groaned in understanding, “Not the best place for a fox, then.”

“How come?” Judy asked reflexively.

Nic turned his face to address her with a look of surprise and bewilderment but then smiled cordially (with a hint of smugness) as he gestured to himself, “Apologies, cousin, that was quite rude of me.  Nicolaus Wilde, welcome to the Burrow.”

_ Oh hey, it’s Nick in all his snarking glory, that only took thirty seconds _ , she grinned and bore it, “Jude; just ‘Jude’,” Judy replied, “So you’re this ‘Nicolaus Wilde’ I might’ve heard about.”

“To know my fame reaches beyond the gates of this city is encouraging,” he grinned.

“Except whom  _ I _ heard tell about was a rabbit riddled with mange and other such misfortunes,” she recalled.

“Do you often make merry of other’s plights?”

“Only those named ‘Nicolaus Wilde’,” smirked Judy.

Nic wryly grinned.  “I’d very much like to hear your story, Just Jude, but another time.

“The Blessed Court is not hesitant to dole out blame for a wrong, and a fox is as likely a target as any ill-fated food or misplaced item of consequence.  Only yesterday, if you do not already know, Miss Hopps was a stunning picture of health, but  _ today _ , she is beset with brain fever?  Terrible luck, that, and terrible luck is no welcome to a fox when the Blessed Court is involved.”  He lifted his head and gazed about as the slope of the cart indicated their exit of higher classes, to which he sat erect to adjust his hat.

_ If the timing matches as I think it does,  _ thought Judy, likewise sitting up to set her cap in a more comfortable position,  _ then it might actually be a fox which caused Lovey’s condition.  Brain fever, at least as they understood it, wasn’t fatal back then, so she should be okay with plenty of bed rest, but still, how curious.  This might be another part of the safeguard. Would it have been like traveling back in time and seeing my past self if we met? _ she idly wondered.

“It’s no wonder you’re as early as you are, Big Gid, this fine young vixen is as sharp as they come,” said Nic, reclining in the corner of the cart with his arms propped up on the railings, “Where did you find such an assistant in a single night?”

“More as it is,  _ she _ found  _ me, _ ” the larger fox commended over a shoulder, before slumping them and shifting his gait back to purposed oafishness.  Judy watched as Nic’s demeanor -- otherwise a keen-eyed and energetic individual -- slacked into a lethargic vagrant hitching a ride in a passing cart, the bowler hat down on his nose when nudged by a thumb.  Far be it for Judy to break the charade, and sat curled up against the other corner of the cart, knees hugged to her chest and tail curled around her ankles. She glanced out the corner of her eye to catch the vivid green iris of Nic’s and shared in the smile it gave.

 

* * *

 

Day broke and bunnies filled the streets.  When Big Gid’s cart was parked behind the theatre, the foxes’ simple silence whisked away as if galvanized from removing their masks.  While Judy hopped off without hindrance Big Gid held up a paw to block Nic, clearing his throat expectantly. After a moment’s thought, Nic grinned to a limerick:

There once was a fur-grooming maven

Whose assistant was all bare and shaven.

When asked why it was, he said it’s because

“That’s what you  _ do _ when your hare’s misbehavin’!”

The large fox burst into a laugh as he held his sides, a gesture to allow Nic to exit.

While Judy felt she was getting the hang of how foxes exchanged chores and entertainment for food and favors, she did quirk a brow at the exchange, taken aback at the humor that the imaginary counterparts shared.   _ That sounded offensive to hares.  Was that offensive to hares? I didn’t even know hares were shaved _ .  “Shaving is punishment for hares?” she asked.

“Shaving is punishment for  _ all _ ,” corrected Nic in generic disgust as he alighted on the ground, “though more often reserved for foxes, on account of a certain… market for what it produces.  However, it’s not uncommon for a hare or bunny to feel the edge of the razor for disciplinary purposes.”

“So, those fox-fur cigarettes  _ aren’t _ a source of income for foxes?”

“A mistaken pretense, Just Jude, those dreadful things are neither ‘healthy’ nor ‘profitable’,” Nic continued with an air of cynicism, “My advice is to avoid both the barber and the pharmacist sharing a tenancy.”

“Masters can claim the fur off a fox’s back as ‘payment’ to settle a debt, and then sell it to make those,” Big Gid further explained in grimace, “I was hopin’ to not hafta mention it, but I guess if you don’t know then you don’t know, and now you know.”

“It’s the Burrow’s dark secret that the Court knows this particular trade is harmful to all involved, but have yet done anything to end it,” Nic concluded, and then tapped the side of his nose, “And you didn’t hear it from  _ me _ , but not every fox-fur cigarette is made from the fur of a fox.”

_ That’s definitely indicative of something; I hope my notebook is jotting all this down because I’ll need to look into what happens in Bunnyburrow once I get topside, _ Judy determined and waltzed up to the back door staircase.

“Cousin,” Nic reprimanded using a  _ tsktsk _ of his finger, and grinned with a sweeping point, “ _ We _ enter yonder.”

“The cellar; right,” Judy said, and followed along to the slanted double-doors,  _ How else would they get under the stage. _  “Who has the key?” she asked, noticing the padlock and chain binding the door handles together.

“ _ Ev’ry  _ fox has a ‘key’,” Big Gid smirked, and gestured to a shrugging, smirking Nic.  Though the cellar doors were securely padlocked, Nic opened one door wide by dislodging its hinges.  “After you,” bid the grocer in a polite motion, accepting the heavy wooden slab as the two smaller foxes walked in, and then securing it behind him with a latching sound.

Inside looked like… a normal cellar, used for the storage of things that the theatre above didn’t want taking up space, like spare pulleys and rope for the curtains or chairs that needed repairing.  Despite Judy’s night vision swiftly adapting, there wasn’t much to see, but instead of voicing her opinion on the obviously mundane underground storage room, she knew better and followed Nic’s nonchalant stride.  Quite casually, and after removing his bowler hat, Nic ducked his head under a long plank of wood leaning in a far corner of the cellar, sufficiently disappearing around a freestanding shelf.

_ Ah ha, there’s a hidden corridor,  _ Judy grinned, likewise slipping beneath the board and staying close to Nic’s tail,  _ these walls have some kind of carpeting on them, almost like soundproofing,  _ she noticed, running her paws along them.  The corridor was long and narrow, but Big Gid seemed to squeeze through by shuffling sideways and sucking in his gut (needing to stop once or twice halfway along).  Judy’s eyes were up, trying to map out where she would be if in the theatre above,  _ But judging by the location of the back door, this should lead directly underneath the stage itself, _ “Oh!” she groaned upon collision, “Sorry, Nick…”

“Perhaps your attention is better spent away from the ceiling,” he mused, and guided her upright from the momentary slanted posture with a polite ushering against the shoulder, and set his hat back upon his head as he continued towards the far opening.

Nothing moved beneath the stage as they entered into the spacious area.  Perhaps the most notable aspect were the rows of low benches, which if Judy tilted her head one way and then the other, looked like ribbings for foundation,  _ You wouldn’t know what they were unless you were looking for them _ , she smiled, and stepped out of the way as Big Gid yanked himself out.

“D’you think Mister Earwicket will let me leave out the back door?” he wondered with a clearing of his throat and an adjusting of his jacket, “I suffer that twice a night  _ only  _ when Miss Hopps is performing, not to run errands.”

“You need not have suffered it at all if you waited outside, cousin,” Nic reminded.

“I’ll have you know I’ve my  _ own  _ matter of business that needs seein’ to,” he huffed.

“Considering the news of the day, wouldn’t bringing up a petty grievance be a bit much for Sissy?” Judy suggested,  _ And so avoid a  _ faux pas _ on my part _ .

“A valid point,” agreed Nic, “There’s no closer fox to our beloved Miss Hopps, and whatever this ‘petty grievance’ might be surely pales in comparison.”

The thick arms crossed with a snort, but Big Gid grumbled his acceptance, “A’ight, I’ll talk with her another day about it,” he paused for a thought, “It does seem kinda… petty, don’t it, in the scope of what happened.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re on about, but my answer would be ‘yes’,” the gardener teased, “It’s no means on account of  _ you _ , Big Gid; by Sissy’s standard  _ any _ grievance brought before her is petty.”

“That don’t mean she can go throwin’ my name about as she likes,” persisted Big Gid, “I spoke with her about it before-”

“Did this  _ particular  _ instance lead to one ‘Just Jude’ finding you?”

“ _ Yes _ , but-”

“In which case, you should consider  _ thanking _ Sissy, rather than berating her,” he smugly concluded, “Who knows which establishment those sharp wits would otherwise grace?”

“He  _ did _ offer me a job as his assistant,” Judy stated matter-of-factly.

“How providential,” considered a beaming Nic, “It might behoove us to mention this fortunate turn of events, then, so to soften the blow of Miss Hopps’s ailment.”

“Well, let’s not bog her down with information,” she quickly insisted.

“Nuthin’ doin’,” grumped Big Gid, “I’ll let slide not givin’ her a talkin’ to, but I ain’t indebtin’ myself to her.”

_ Weird, _ thought Judy,  _ Somehow, I reimagined history with Captain Bogo but making up where I could logically hear Gid’s name is coming back to bite me, and yet he believed  _ that _ claim but not that I mistook him for someone else.  The sooner I get out of here, the better… it’s just not making any sense. _

It was to Judy’s benefit that she introspected on the stairs since neither Nic nor Big Gid uttered a single word, and despite the latter’s heft, made nary a sound on their ascent.  At the top was a trapdoor, which Nic crouched under and put his ear to, and breathed slowly with a wide flaring of his nostrils at the crevices; ever so cautiously, he pushed up to peek out through a narrow band of light in a wide sweep and then opened the hatch completely.  Judy swiftly progressed only when signaled to do so, keeping low and looking about to calibrate her own internal positioning.

_ Backstage, and it looks like the other side from where Lovey’s dressing room is, _ she observed, relaxing her stance in a crouch as Big Gid’s bulk slid itself out from the hole in the floor.

“All set, cousin?” said Nic in a low, but not hushed voice, smiling as he beckoned her over.  Judy smiled back and nodded, following close as they moved along the open stage towards the starlet’s dressing room.  At the door, engraved with a modest brass plaque of “Laverne Hopps”, Judy felt nostalgic awe bubbling under her fur, since she was at least foot shorter the last time she saw it.   _ It’s like I haven’t been here in years _ , wondered the gray vixen, and held an elbow at the faint contradiction of warmth and coolness she felt.

Nic reached out and dragged two claws along the length of the door, and then flicked three times in quick succession.  A few seconds later (if she strained her ears to listen), Judy heard the faint sounds of sniffing on the other side before it opened enough for Sissy to peek through.  Her piercing blue eyes studied the three and then lingered on Judy before permitting their entrance.

“What matter of import is this, Nic, that you would interrupt on a performance day?” inquired Sissy.  She was garbed in colors mundane and unimpressive, from faded greens and dull browns to dirty off-whites, but how she wore them and how she stood was nothing short of royalty.  Still, it was odd, after so long, to stand eye-to-eye with Esther’s imaginary counterpart, and despite herself, Judy let her gaze linger on a face bereft of her iconic bangs (though didn’t let their eyes meet).

“Only to save you what tragedy I could of finding out later rather than sooner,” Nic replied, removing his hat in a debonair bow, but then stood upright to hold the headwear at his chest as though to grieve, “It is grave news concerning our beloved Miss Hopps.”

Sissy’s eyes, once sharp and strong, wavered into a pleading stare, and it seemed she needed a moment to collect herself as both paws gripped at the apron and dress, “What befell our Lovey?”

He took a deep breath, and exhaled, “Brain fever.”

The scarlet vixen put a paw to her forehead, “I… I see.  Thank you for telling me,” Sissy said after a long pause, but it seemed some moniker of composure returned as she straightened her posture and dress, “Lovey is strong-willed, not easily beaten by such a trifle.  Give it a fortnight, maybe a month, but her voice will fill this hall like never before. In the interim, I shall inform Mister Earwicket when he arrives later today so he can make alternate plans.”

“Our services are ever at your disposal, Sissy,” grinned Nic, and returned the bowler hat to his head, though tilted back.

“Your service already spared this theatre the great trouble it takes to set up for Lovey’s performance,” she smirked, and then turned to Big Gid and Judy, “I dare not indebt myself to you lot  _ further _ .”

“It wouldn’t even be an issue,” Judy chimed in, “Anything you need, Sissy.”

“Don’t go volunteering,” smirked Big Gid, pushing her cap down onto her face once more.

Sissy spared a giggle, “I’m afraid a debt is already owed, Big Gid; it’s no secret that your cart is the surest way through the city, without which I doubt Nic could deliver his message before anyone else arrived.”

The larger fox grinned bashfully and rubbed the back of his head, “Consider it a debt paid, Sissy, since it was thanks to  _ you _ that my new apprentice found way to my kitchen.”

“So went the plans to traverse my way here, thus freeing up my entire morning,” Nic mused, and approached Judy from behind to clap her shoulder, “In no small part to our newest cohort.”

“Bless me, is that who this is?” the scarlet vixen wondered, and directly addressed an avoidant Judy, “However it happened, it seems you’ve proven yourself invaluable this morn.  As you already know, I’m ‘Sissy’,” she said, and presented a paw in a very ladylike fashion, “To whom do I make so fortunate an acquaintance?”

“I go by ‘Jude’,” the gray vixen replied, and grasped the paw politely, “Or ‘Just Jude’, as you please.”  She smiled and lifted her head, but kept their eyes from meeting.

“So shy,” she cooed, and looked down at the held paw, thoughtfully brushing the fur.

“As it is, Sissy, I’ve need of your expertise,” Nic interjected, and fluidly swiped the cap from Judy’s head, “Whose eyes are these?”

The vixens’ eyes locked, and the gray one bit back a yelp and attempted to look away, pull away, escape in some manner but the scarlet’s paws were too quick, too sure, and yanked to not only hold her wrist, but also her jaw.  Judy saw the blue shift to silver the longer Sissy stared into her, and while she knew her police training could slip out of that grasp without delay, it was all she could do to stay standing under that gaze.

“Oi’!” barked Big Gid, and lurched forward to intervene but was swiftly stopped by Nic.

“Hold, cousin,” he warned and looked over his shoulder.

“Who are you?” demanded Sissy, uncertainty giving way to indignation, “I know your fur, your breath, your lips… your eyes.  You are our beloved Lovey, but a  _ fox _ .  How?”  Suddenly, her ears went pale and she released Judy, both stumbling back while Sissy joined the other two red foxes, “Are you a  _ witch _ of the Bloodwood?  Did you curse her and take her likeness?”

“No, she  _ ain’t _ ,” denied Big Gid, “She’s one of those foxes Sir Grav brought as a gift, but she escaped and she’s been hiding out in the Burrow for the past week.”

“None of those foxes were fortunate enough to escape, Big Gid,” corrected Nic, and pulled out Judy’s notebook from his coat pocket, “However, whether or not a witch, what say we find out what she knows?”

_ My notebook! _ Judy fretted with an audible gasp, clapping and checking the empty pocket of her own coat to find only the charcoal pencil,  _ He must’ve picked it when we collided in the corridor… _  She then looked up at Big Gid, knowing full well her reaction might as well have been a confession.

The larger fox’s eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, looking over Nic’s shoulder at the stationary bound in cured corn-husk, and then he stared at Judy in disappointment and betrayal.

The gentle whine rang through Judy’s ears but she straightened her back and raised her chin, eyes burning with determination,  _ Okay, brain, you forced me to do this.  I won’t let you collapse on me, especially not using my own friends.  Time for some creative re-imagining: first, I dressed up as a witch when I was a kid, so, _ “I was once a witch, outside the Burrow, but now I am only a fox.  The notebook appeared when we crossed the bridge,” she began and thought on something Lovey mentioned at lunch, “It’s the result of the Blessed Queen’s protection on the kingdom.  I am marked by that notebook and cannot part with it any more than I can be seen with it.”

_ It looks like I have their attention.  Alright you superstitious, make-believe world, time to get a dose of truth and logic.  Secondly, I  _ am  _ Lovey, for all intents and purposes,  _ “My name -- my  _ secret _ name -- is Judith Laverne Hopps,” she said to a collective gasp from the red foxes.  “I came to the Burrow a few days ago and shared a day with Lovey.” She smiled up at a wavering Big Gid, and took a step forward, “It was the day you wrote Lovey your gratitude in a note, and it made her  _ so  _ proud.  I didn’t realize until today how much danger you put yourself in to deliver it to her, but it is safe and cherished inside her music room,” she continued, and then looked to Nic, taking another step forward, “Along with all forty-eight of your songs, including  If You Would Come With Me .  You gave her a yellow tulip that day; do you remember?”

Nic’s eyes softened, and for the first time since Judy saw him that morning, she remembered the gardener who shared secrets with her through an open window.  He dropped his rueful gaze to the still closed notebook, and then looked up to her again as she stepped towards Sissy. The scarlet vixen looked desperate to escape before her paws were grasped, and found that the gentle hold might as well been steel.  Bracing herself for whatever Judy might reveal, she relaxed when it finally came. “Whatever am I to do with myself if I’m none the wiser of  _ five _ suitors?” Judy whispered and guided her closer until mere inches separated them.

Sissy remained quiet, but it seemed her blue eyes locked onto Judy’s violet ones, and she could not help but smile in revelation, “Regrets, have we?”

“Only that I am not as vigilant as I believe myself to be,” Judy sighed in recitation.

Trembling with joy, Sissy responded, “Confidence becomes you, Lovey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just Jude's said ev'rything that needed saying.
> 
> Thank you for reading and reviewing!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, everybunny, we're almost there!

Judy patiently sat in Lovey’s chair as the starlet did before her.  The make-up application process was at times ticklish (to which Sissy further tickled), and at other times spine-tingling when the soft bristles sifted her fur with all the force and sound of a faint breeze.  How Lovey held a conversation during it all without getting anything in her mouth boggled the mind, and it set Judy’s train of thought to how she could possibly comprehend something  _ so _ incomprehensible (like how Sissy convinced her to be made-up in the first place).  Instead, she pondered on something easier to wrap her brain around: how she managed to convince the imaginary counterparts of her friends that she was  _ not _ Lovey magicked into a fox, and that she actually needed  _ their _ help but not the other way around.

_ I guess my lack of a melodious singing voice helped in that respect.  Mom and Dad always said I could be a great singer ever since the choir at Woodlands Elementary, but a police officer was the path I chose to make the world a better place _ , Judy thought,  _ and running around with my friends was more fun than staying in and practicing. _  It seemed to seal the deal that Judy was, as she claimed, “only a fox” when she couldn’t hold a high C;  _ I could if I practiced it _ , Judy inwardly grumped, grumping especially when  _ that _ was what so readily convinced them.  As it stood, Sissy was enamored by the idea that, even though she was not Lovey herself, she was certainly how Lovey would be, were she a fox.

“Cease this torment, Sissy,” Nic quipped, audibly pulling a needle through Judy’s jacket as he secured the breast pocket with a secreting flap, “I doubt Just Jude shares the sentiment, your endearing curiosity notwithstanding.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said through barely moving lips, even though it was her  _ eyelids _ which a soft brush next applied make-up.

“Cease  _ your _ torment, Mr. Wilde,” Sissy quipped right back with a dismissing sweep of her tail, lifting the gray chin to study her mouth, “Judith does me a tremendous favor to allow my doting.”

_ It was because you said I was like your younger sister, which I can  _ hardly _ say ‘no’ to _ , Judy mutely rebutted, and straightened again when Sissy began applying the lip balm,  _ Mmh, it kinda tastes like cherries. _  She pressed her lips together and popped them while the scarlet vixen took a step back to allow line-of-sight with the mirror.  “Oh… wow,” said Judy, finding herself mesmerized by the vixen staring back: her fur was no longer a smokey gray but rather a polished silver, the dark of her lips and nose caught the eye, and it seemed her violet irises shone a bit brighter amidst it all; she dare not touch her own face for fear of displacing anything.  “I feel like I should be wearing a dress,” she giggled, but closed her eyes and mouth (and tried to close her nostrils) when Sissy spritzed her neck and chest with a lavender perfume.

“Then to  _ whom _ shall this newly pocketed coat go?” Nic asked dryly, but didn’t miss a beat in his sewing as he cut the thread with a claw.  Judy looked over her bared shoulder as Nic rose from his seat, stepping from behind the privacy screen, “I’m no tailor, but I daresay this pocket will stay the more curious fingers of-” he stopped, looking up from his handiwork to address the vixens, namely Judy, but could only manage a dumbfounded repetition of “of”.

Sissy leaned over and put her face next to Judy’s so they might share a sly grin, “Since we’re daresaying,  _ I _ daresay that is the highest compliment of my craft I could hope to achieve; wouldn’t you agree, Judith?”

“I can’t recall the last time Nick’s been this articulate,” she concurred with a tap of her own chin, “Plan was to remove the make-up before too long, but maybe I’ll keep it on.”  Nic attempted to recover his nonchalance but managed so only by avoiding eye-contact with Judy.

“Honoring as it would be, this makeup is not for the street,” lamented Sissy, “However, mayhaps for the time being, I can find you a becoming dress to go with it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go  _ that _ far,” Judy chuckled, shrugging her shirt on to button it up, “You’ve done a wonderful job, though.”  It seemed to Judy that the imaginary counterparts of her friends doted unnecessarily, ever since she mentioned that Lovey “gave her a day”; Sissy with her make-up, Nic with the pocket flap, and Big Gid was surely on his way with the tea he promised.

As the grocer walked in and out of the room, bringing the table on his first trip and a chair in each arm for the subsequent second and third trips, he seemed uncomfortable, though not on account of any particular fox or reason.  Judy knew he wasn’t  _ mad _ , per se, only that he needed time to think, as did they all, about how everything transpired.  After all, she  _ was _ dishonest about where she came from, on the other paw it was unanimously agreed that he wouldn’t have believed her anyway.  Regardless, the smell of hot water wafted into the room as Big Gid ducked and shouldered his way inside for the fourth and final time, courtesy of Nic holding the door open.

“I could not find anything sweet, save the condiments,” he articulated, something he did ever since he thought it possible that Lovey  _ could _ know he wasn’t striving for grammatic betterment outside of their lessons, “so we must suffice with cheese and…” wavered Big Gid, the tea tray slipping from his grip and into the clutches of a readied Nic.  Judy sat at the table in one of Sissy’s best jackets, glancing up at him from over the edge of a fan and under the brim of a  _ very  _ lady-like hat with a batting of her emphasized eyelashes.  To Big Gid’s partial benefit, his numerous voice lessons collapsed into indecipherably accented speech (although the tone of it was, more likely than not, flattering), and so masked whatever fuel for friendly teasing he might provide his fellow foxes.  However, the burning red beacons of his ears spoke what words never could, especially when Judy lowered the fan and smiled her sweetest.

What happened afterward kept Sissy in uproarious laughter as Nic ducked under Big Gid’s sweeping log of a tail while the large fox hastily pivoted to leave, who then promptly struck his forehead into the top of the doorframe with a thundering crash.  What Nic hadn’t counted on was that though he dodged the tail and kept the tea tray from falling, the door caught the full brunt of that swinging tail and bounced off the wall to smack his back. Judy dropped her fan and nearly knocked over every chair in a brewing panic to prevent further catastrophe, arriving only in time to catch the flying tea tray and wheel back as Nic sprawled on the floor, no worse for the wear.  All seemed saved until Big Gid fell atop Nic, to which all of Sissy’s remaining ladylike composure collapsed in hysterical merriment. Judy set the tea tray on the table to grab Nic’s outstretched paws.

“I would like to point out,” he wheezed as she attempted to free him from the oppressing bodily mass of a dazed, giant fox, “that I harbor  _ no _ regrets in my participation of this practical joke.”

For sanity’s sake, Sissy removed the makeup and Judy slipped back into her newly-pocketed jacket before they all joined at the table for tea, cheese and crackers.  Regular breathing returned to both Nic and Sissy, while Big Gid denied any manner of cranial soreness (and hid behind his shaggy bangs more often than not when addressing Judy, who found his bashfulness endearing).

“Alright, to business,” announced Judy.

“To business!” cheered the others, holding up their teacups in a toast.

“Yes, right,” she hesitated, idly pouring some honey into her tea, even though Judy didn’t much care for honey in her tea unless it was to aid a sore throat, “As I explained earlier, Lovey gave me a day in the Burrow, a day which I need to accomplish a  _ very _ important task.”

“Quite the mystery, this task of yours,” Sissy pondered aloud, “for a Bloodwood witch to risk the Blessed Court is nothing short of suicide.”

“A witch  _ wouldn’t _ ,” argued Nic, adding more sugar to his tea, “Or perhaps more appropriately,  _ couldn’t _ .  The Blessed Queen’s magic is far too powerful to allow even the slightest hex to slip through the gates, and the bunnies’ wards too numerous to suffer such arcane craft.”

“Tha’s why-” Big Gid began, cleared his throat, and corrected himself, “That  _ is _ why it was Lovey who gave her a day.  No one else would that could, or could that would.”

Nic mulled while sipping, “Quite so, Big Gid, quite so… This task might very well be a reckoning beyond anything the Burrow’s seen before,” and set his teacup down decidedly.

Judy had plenty of time to consider it while sitting and being made-up, and of the few explanations she could think of (with either growing outlandishness or risking further damage to the safeguards) she finally settled on something she conceived earlier that morning.  “I wouldn’t say it’s a ‘reckoning’, Nick,” she began, and set her own tea down, “I’ve come to stop a plague.”

Silence.

“A…  _ plague _ ?” Nic finally asked, caught between disbelief and denial, but both doused with desperation.

Judy nodded and rubbed her knuckles, “A plague so terrible, so  _ overwhelming  _ that not even the queen herself will survive.  Bunnies… foxes… none will be spared.”

“Judy, how can you know such a thing?” doubted Sissy, though hushed, “A plague is not an invading army or a storm, it does not announce itself with drums or thunder.”

_ We’ll omit the fact that I brought it with me…  _ “I know by my craft,” she asserted, “and by my craft, I came to the Burrow to save it.”

“As memory serves,  _ our _ help is needed for such a task?” Nic recalled with a severely arched eyebrow, “A gardener, a grocer, and a makeupper-”

“I need the help of my  _ friends _ ,” Judy urged, and looked to each of them, “I’ve already come halfway with your help, Big Gid, no other fox in the city could’ve gotten me here when I needed to be.”

“‘Here’?” Sissy continued to doubt with a gesture to herself and Nic, “To  _ us _ ?”

“No one better,” confirmed Judy, and thought on what she learned about the Bloodwood witches, “When I shared the day with Lovey, I missed out on the opportunity to get someone’s name, a name which once gotten will divine the way to stop this plague.”

“Whose name could hold such power?” pried Big Gid.

_ Please sound more impressive aloud than it does in my head…  _ “Mister Briar.”

“As in…  _ Squire _ Briar?” Nic asked.

“Y-yes,  _ him _ .”

“Sir Grav’s ‘confidante’?” Sissy clarified.

“Yeah.”

“Did he perchance  _ bring _ the plague with him?” postulated Nic.

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t,” answered Judy.

“Well,” Big Gid loftily interjected, reclining in his chair with his paws folded behind his head in a smug grin, “I don’t pretend to know how witchery works, but seems like I already finished  _ my _ part in all this.  It’s up to the two of you to save the Burrow from damnation, and all you need is to name one li’l bunny.”

“The reason for his name is not important, at least for the likes of  _ us _ ,” asserted Sissy.

“Indeed, we need only supply it and Just Jude can handle the rest,” agreed Nic.

_ Oi’…  _ huffed Judy, “Correct, so long as I have his name by the end of the day, that should be that.”

“ _ Or _ , get his name now and enjoy the rest of your day in the Burrow,” Nic smirked triumphantly, “When Sir Grav is especially humorless, Mister Briar goes by ‘Robert’.”

“Robert,” she sighed and slumped a cheek into her palm, “of course it’s ‘Robert’.”   _ It’s only the most common male name for rabbits, averaging at a  _ measly  _ four percent throughout recorded bunny history, but hey, “Robert Briar” should narrow it to  _ only _ a few several hundred thousand living and dead individuals.  If I hunker down, take a sabbatical from the ZPD, and devote my time to researching why a “Robert Briar”  _ might  _ be significant to Night Howlers, I could get lucky and find an answer before I retire.  For crying out loud, “Bo” is short for “Robert”, but Dawson already nixed that theory. His golden fur could narrow it down further, and maybe more so if I had a middle name, but fat chance I ever happened upon  _ that _ useful bit of information. _  She sighed, “Alright, ‘Robert’ it is.”

“Mr. Wilde, you’ve disappointed our guest and friend,” Sissy said before a sip, “I rather thought you a slyer fox than that.”

“Perhaps the next time an apocalyptic plague needs stopping, I’ll stick to my flowers and be done with the lot of it,” he scoffed.

“C’mon Sissy, don’t blame Nic, names aren’t something a bunny chooses, not like a fox,” Big Gid teased.

_ Nic… names…?  _ Judy blinked, “Nicknames…” she quietly repeated, looking first to Nic and then to Big Gid, “The names you know each other by.  ‘Big Gid’ is your nickname, right? It’s short for something.”

He grunted in confused affirmation with a pause.

“And ‘Sissy’, that’s a nickname, too,” she pointed out, and had to contain herself when she thought,  _ It’s not the same as in the city, but across the Tri-Burrows nicknames are accepted as an  _ official  _ name on some federal documents, like medical records or death certificates.  He might have a condition or disease which the Night Howler mimics! _  Judy rocketed from her chair, “I need to find Robert Briar’s  _ nickname _ , the name his friends know him by!”  She brightened and addressed the red foxes staring at her, “Of course ‘Robert’ is the most common name for male bunnies, but it’s also shortened in a dozen different ways, the same with ‘Jonathan’.  Don’t you see? If I find his  _ nick _ name, I can find his identity!”

“A curious proposal,” Nic said after a moment of rubbing his chin, “Although a good deal trickier, isn’t it Sissy?”

“My dear Mr. Wilde, the only ‘tricky’ part here is finding Judy again at the end of the day,” she grinned, “Mister Earwicket, though tolerant of foxes, does not suffer them to loiter on the premises (or  _ any _ one, really), and with an open program tonight there’s no need to make him any madder than he already is.  You lot must find hospitality elsewhere, I’m afraid.”

“Looks like it’s Big Gid to the rescue again,” chuckled the large fox, “We both’ll be (I mean, ‘We both  _ will  _ be’) down at the dock unloading a big delivery.  Just look for me, we’ll stick close by.”

“Yes, but what to do in the interim, I wonder,” Nic mused, “Sundown is still some many hours away, so you’ll need someone to help you lie low until then, or perhaps show you around the very place you’re here to save.”

“And what about Mister Briar’s name?” she asked, looking to Sissy.

“Consider it found,” the scarlet vixen dismissed jovially, “A string or two pulled will reveal it in due time, my love.  Though we might not get the chance to spend the day together, perhaps with your task complete, we’ll have the evening?”

_ It all depends on whether accomplishing the goal is what triggers my way out of here,  _ “I look forward to it, Sissy,” she smiled, “As for  _ you _ , Nick, there is something I would like to see, and it sounds like you’re the fox to get me there.”

“No door in this city is closed to me,” he grinned, and then teased, “As a fair warning, Just Jude, getting into the palace will require more time than your current allotment.”

* * *

Judy’s request, as surprising as it was to the others, was well within the realm of possibility for Nicolaus Wilde, especially since it was still in the lower half of the city.  They set out before mid-morning, bidding Sissy and Big Gid a farewell until next they met and then scurried off. Bathed in sunlight, the buildings and alleyways cast their harsh shadows, the remaining night cringing in corners and covered walkways, but the streets were alight with long-eared activity.  Rabbits and foxes mingled with a density that heavily leaned towards the former, as such the atmosphere, once secretive with a free-form ambition, was then orderly, amiable, and filled with purposeful direction.

Though they skirted the crowds and streets, she endeavored to absorb what happened in the lower class bunny culture; of all, it reminded her of her adolescent and prepubescent years, when she decided that the world needed bettering and she was just the bunny to do it.  Those were the years when Judy brushed the dirt off her knees and face, no longer dragging around a loose understanding of justice but developing the moral and ethical code needed to truly protect those in need. Her many early attempts upheld the rules of a game even if it didn’t benefit her or her team, progressed into fair treatment no matter the species or background, and by the time she was six- or seven-years-old felt she had a firm grasp on right and wrong.  Which was why she flinched and bristled with the offhanded catchphrase, “Can’t help a fox”.  _ I have some serious re-evaluating to do down here, _ she fumed, keeping the cap over her eyes to refrain from glaring.

“If you’re to last a day, you cannot bare teeth at every slight,” Nic quietly rebuked over his shoulder and then ducked down an alleyway before vaulting up stacked crates to a high ledge.

Judy followed suit without a hint of trouble.  “It sounds more like a colloquialism than a rule, though,” she wondered aloud, “Does it mean that it’s ‘bad luck’ or something to help a fox in need, or foxes will never be more than they are?”

“Astute as always, and correct on both counts,” he commended nonchalantly, and lifted up a seemingly smooth part of wall for her to duck through, gesturing with a sweep of his paw, “After you.”  Inside was what Judy realized she needed most of all, something that played at her thoughts ever since she laid back in that hospital bed the last time she was a bunny. “Pray tell, Just Jude, what use have you for an attic filled with discarded books?  If you had your whole life to read, much less a single day, you would not get through half of this sorry lot.”

_ Well, if you weren’t watching I’m sure I could conjure a few answers to some lifelong questions I’ve had.  Since Sissy is working on getting Robert Briar’s nickname, I don’t need to worry about it and therefore have some free time to surf my own memories. _  “I won’t be reading  _ all _ of them, of course, I only need to figure some stuff out.  It’ll be like…”  _ Oh, what was it called…  _ “Bibliomancy!  That’s it. The books themselves will tell me what I want to know.  It’s a witch thing.”

“Shave and smoke me,” muttered Nic, rubbing his neck, “To think your craft could work inside the queen’s protection boggles the mind.  What could you possibly hope to gleam with such a risk?”

Already amidst the towering piles of books, some so high they almost wedged against the rafters, Judy looked about, sniffing the dust and must of old paper and bindings, “I’ll admit, I don’t expect to find any real answers here.  It’s a limited source of information and it might not even have what I’m looking for, but hey, I’ve got all day for research. And no one will be up here today, right?”

“Not at  _ this _ time of week,” Nic replied, and picked up the nearest book to turn it over, “I rather hoped to show you where foxes go during the day, an eternal quandary of Miss Hopps’s as I’m sure you know.”

“Tell you what,” Judy smirked over her shoulder, “I have  _ one _ particular question I’ve wondered about for a while now.  Help me find some answers on it, and we’ll head to all the cool fox joints in the Burrow.”

He scoffed, “Perhaps you should join Big Gid in one of his grammar lessons,” but shrugged in good humor, “Present your question, Just Jude, and I shall enlighten you as best I can.”

She chuckled once in recollection to the bantering with her Nick, and picked up a book to flip through the pages, “I’m looking for a fox surrounded by lots of hearsay -- some that he’s a pirate and others that he was an admiral of the Royal Navy -- goes by the name of ‘Piberius Savage’.  I wanted to ask Big Gid earlier when we saw the ship in the port over the rooftops, but it didn’t seem like the right time.” Her attention then drifted towards a solitary, sunbleached book sitting on a stool illuminated by an adjacent window,  _ Ooh, now that’s some symbolism if I ever saw it!  _ but after a noteworthy silence, Judy looked up from the book and turned towards Nic to find him… disquieted.  All at once, he seemed skeptical, cynical, smug, scared, confused, and curious. “Nick?”

Nic’s vibrant green eyes focused once again as he looked up to her atop the book pile she scaled, the sunlight trickling in from cracks in the ceiling reflected off dancing dust.  He paused in careful planning of his next words and removed his bowler hat to hold it casually behind his back, even though he jut his chest with pride. “In which case,” he finally said, “you needn’t read a page more, Just Jude, for you have found him.”

Scrambling down the slope of books, Judy nearly pounced onto her best friend’s imaginary counterpart, grabbing his shoulders and staring into his face, “Oh my gosh, ‘Nicolaus Wilde’  _ was _ a pen name!  And here you are, Piberius Savage; how did I not see it sooner…?”  She cupped his bewildered cheeks, “The signs were all there, but no matter, you’re here now and we have privacy to talk.”  She pulled him by the wrist over to a table covered in books (which she haphazardly pushed away) and gestured he join her in sitting.  “Okay, I have  _ lots _ of questions to ask about you and all day to ask them,” she giddily explained, pulling out her notebook to flip open a blank page, charcoal pencil at the ready.

“I confess myself woefully unsure about this,” doubted Nic, setting his hat down on the newly cleared table and carefully seating himself upon a stack of literature, “Whatever rumors you heard about me as anything so adventurous as a  _ pirate _ are greatly over exaggerated, and the day a fox makes  _ admiral _ of the Royal Navy is a day the kingdom turns on its head.  I am but a gardener…” he insisted.

“ _ And _ a famous composer,” Judy swiftly added, “to one of the most beloved singers in the whole kingdom, no less.  Now,  _ clearly, _ you’re not a sailor but have you had any aspirations or dreams about becoming one?”

He crossed one leg over the other while balancing atop his makeshift seat, paws folded on a knee as he cobbled together a sense of refinement.  “No, I cannot say the sea holds any allure for me; I quite prefer soil to water,” he answered, “Does any of this happen to coincide with the plague?”

“Probably not,” she chuckled with a dismissive wave, “ _ That _ ’s being handled by Sissy, Mister Briar’s nickname and all that, and we’ll get the information we need at sundown.   _ This _ is a matter of my own curiosity; you see, where I’m from -- outside the Burrow -- there is a conflicting history about  _ you _ , ‘Piberius Savage’, and if I can get the straight story  _ from  _ you, maybe I can help correct it,” beamed Judy.   _ So, no aspirations to join the navy, but it’s possible he was conscripted for some reason or another, and somehow got ahold of the ship.  Also, every depiction I’ve seen of Captain Savage has him with a hook and an eyepatch, which means he was caught reading and writing, so this is all checking out. _  “How does one become a shipfox?” she asked, “Is it voluntary?”

He scratched behind an ear.  “A complicated answer, that. Few foxes take to the sea lest to fish, but shipfoxes of the navy are chosen by captains who see in them the potential as part of their crew-”

“Shipfoxes are  _ chosen _ , I see,” gleed Judy, hurriedly jotting that down.

“ _ Or _ as an alternative to more severe punishment, if they are young enough.”

Violet eyes shot up from notetaking, “Shipfoxes start out as  _ kits _ ?” she gasped, and then thought,  _ Fascinating!  Slightly conflicting, circumstances considered, but nothing I can’t work with. _

He sighed and scowled at no one in particular, “Perhaps it makes them better sailors if they start out on a ship.  For that very reason, you’ll not find a kit straying too far from home until they choose their secret name. It protects them from bunny law, you see,” Nic explained with a wag of his finger.

“Yes, Big Gid elaborated on how secret names work; it’s quite interesting,” she mentioned, and tapped the end of the pencil on her cheek, _ According to Esther, the real Piberius Savage is still alive, so at best he would be a kit by the time my great-great-aunt Laverne Hopps was in her heyday eighty years ago, give or take (I’ll need to confirm with Ruth about some of the chronology on this when I get back).  In any case, if he  _ was _ caught reading and writing, he might’ve gotten the alternate punishment of being a shipfox instead of losing parts of his anatomy (which he then might’ve lost later on in life), and maybe at that point either rose up through the ranks to become captain or admiral (maybe there was some kind of law reform for allowing foxes to do that)  _ or _ he took over the ship as a pirate.  I should ask Nick once I’m topside for some insight into the fox community, since he made up with his parents. _

“Did he?” replied Nic, and a smirk crossed his lips, “The fellow forgot to mention that  _ mates  _ typically know one another’s secret name, as part of their lifelong bond.”

It was Judy’s turn to stare blankly in a pause as the meaning of that statement settled on her shoulders like the dust of the air.  “Well… that is to say, we…” she flustered despite herself, ears pinned back in hopes of hiding their warmth and continued reddening, “It’s not like  _ we’re _ mated, because I didn’t, I mean, Big Gid and Sissy also know my ‘secret name’, and you didn’t  _ tell _ me your name, I kind of guessed it, I guess,” and violently cleared her throat, “Sure is dusty in here?”

“Perhaps a change of subject?”

“Excellent idea!” Judy nigh yelled, and flipped to a new page of her notebook, held high in attempts to hide behind it.  “So, what about-?”

“C’mon, Carrots.”

“Carrots?” she repeated, looking up from her notes at a patiently lounging Nicolaus Wilde thumbing through a book.

“What of carrots?” Nic asked idly, glancing up at her.  The morning light baking the roof cooled and dimmed to a late afternoon haze.  “Shave and smoke me, is that the time?” he started, and snapped a book shut to lazily toss it nearby, “Not a moment more to waste, cousin, punctuality is a form of honesty, after all.”

_ What? _ Judy reeled, and looked down to find a scorched book open on the table, lifting a page with a gruesome depiction of whom she instantly reasoned was Bag-o’-Bones, complete with his tattered cloak, skeletal face, and wielding a meathook and bone saw.  She slammed it shut without a second thought and hurried to follow a leaving Nic while stuffing the notebook back into her coat pocket.  _ It was morning only a few minutes ago? _ she wondered,  _ That must mean… I’m running out of time!  And that sounded like Nick calling me “Carrots”, or was it Dawson? _

“What happened, it felt like an entire day went by in an instant?” she asked of Nic.

“Perhaps for one of us,” he sighed, but smiled over his shoulder, “It’s a shame you’re only in the Burrow for short a time, Just Jude, I’d very much like to hear more of your story.”

_ The real shame is I might not be in for the whole day because the safeguards must really be straining, but I haven’t heard any more of that buckling.  Maybe the lost time was a result of that? _  “Honestly, Nick, there isn’t a lot more to tell,” she tried with a covering chuckle, stepping out into the orange-gold sunlight of a waning afternoon which snuck up on her.  She set the cap further over her eyes, “As you said, I’m ‘Just Jude’,” and then added with a grin, “Here to make the world a better place.”

“Most kits grow out of that glittering optimism,” he teased, and walked around the high ledge to hop down the pile of crates, but towards a different part of the alleyway.

“Most kits stop playing in the dirt,” she answered, following him step-for-step.

“A knock at my profession?  Hardly ‘just’ of you. I expected more from our savior.”

“Your ‘profession’ is a composer, Nick,” she corrected with a grin, “Groundskeeping is more of a hobby or a day job to keep up a living.”

“Surely you mean to ‘keep living’, cousin,” he counter-corrected, but without a grin, “Do you think the Blessed Court would suffer a fox to live if they found out he wrote the songs they so dearly cherish?  If it ever got out that those forty-eight pieces are  _ mine _ , I assure you a mangy rabbit would know a better life than I.  How _ ever _ ,” he mused, returning to his default grin, “as far in as I am now, it would do me no benefit to pull out, would it?  As they say, ‘can’t help a fox’; we’ll be who we are and do what we do, regardless of the consequences.”

_ ‘Just like a fox’, _ she sighed, but in good humor,  _ It’s like everything is to their benefit, even when it’s not. _  “Will you be joining Big Gid and me at the dock?” she asked as they slipped through a nearly unperceivable gap in a fence.

“Hmm?  Oh no, not I,” he answered, “I shall get you there in a timely fashion and be on my way.  I’ve not had a day off in too long, and so far it’s spent in a dusty attic with a bookworm.”

“I’m not sorry for that, by the way.”

“Nor should you be,” Nic teased, “if I wanted to leave, I certainly would have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I wanted to find out more about you and I feel as though I found out plenty,” and then stopped at the corner of a warehouse, holding out a paw in grandiose presentation, “There she is, the  H.M.S. Felicitas , one of the fastest ships in the royal fleet and  _ somehow _ utilized for Sir Grav’s own benefit.”

“Sir Grav?  This is  _ his _ shipment?”

“Overheard it from his own lips,” he assured, “And by that grimace, Just Jude, you have a healthy concern of what’s coming in.”

“The guy brought  _ foxes _ as a ‘ _ gift’ _ ,” she revulsed, “My only hope is that whatever he’s bringing in  _ this  _ time is neither now nor ever was breathing.”

“Well, do inform me when you find out,” grinned Nic with a turn of his heel, “There’s a tavern nearby wherein I shall wait; I’m not hard to find if you know where to look.”

She scoffed and called after him, “Can’t help a fox!” and then snickered to herself as he nonchalantly saluted over a shoulder, as was his way.   _ I guess it’s okay if one fox says it to another, since he said it to me _ , Judy pondered,  _ after all, bunnies call each other “cute” all the time. _

It was a clear shot from the warehouse to the dock and some foxes already gathering around a rabbit standing on top of a raised platform, no doubt handing out assignments, and as a tree in a field, there was Big Gid’s hulking, slouching physique.  Remembering how a plainclothes police officer  _ should  _ act, Judy slowed her step the closer she got to the group, earning little in the way of attention from any of the rabbit guards (after all, what’s one more fox amongst a dozen?).  So long as she kept to the fox laborers and not the rabbits or hares, her presence was largely unnoticed. The foremammal was a tall, sturdy individual, looking as though he were cut from stone and all the humor that came with it, even the assignments he read off reminisced of a particular Cape Buffalo.

_ Looks like Bogo’s okay after all, _ Judy mused,  _ He’s a lop-eared rabbit now but I’m glad to see he’s doing well. _  With a subtle spring in her step, she edged over to where Big Gid stood listening and tugged at his elbow, earning such a pleased smiled she worried he might break character.

“Hey Jude!” he finally said when everyone was dismissed (and indeed, she spotted the foxes from whom she purchased the morning’s kebabs), and leaned in to address her, “Sure’s glad ya’ came, was almost worried ya’ wouldn’t, but here ya’ are.  C’mon, lots to get done before sundown.”

She promptly followed, looking about at the scattering hands.  “Goodness, this is a  _ lot _ of dockworkers for one shipment,” she observed, “I know it’s a navy ship but Sir Grav must’ve filled it from stem to stern to need so much help unloading it.”

Big Gid chuckled and shook his head, “It’s a wonder Nic keeps his secrets as he does with those loose lips.”  He earned a laugh as they walked their way up the ramp to the gentle creak of swaying shrouds and the bobbing ship, mingling in the air with omnipresent brine and characterizing wet wood.  “Sir Grav went around the world, y'know, brought gifts from wherever he’s been and this one is said to be his  _ biggest _ .”

“Well, so long as it’s not more gift-foxes,” she said under her breath, keeping the cap low on her face.  Mixed with the freeing scents of unbridled ocean and a sailing ship was the stifling hint of smoke. Judy’s nostrils flared as she sniffed, biting back a cough as her eyes scanned for the source, and then her ears swiveled to strain as a rabbit’s might when the fur along her spine bristled.

There he was.  The voice which chilled her as a child but held strong against as an adult.  The voice which felt like needles hooked into the back of her mind. The voice from which she felt no fear, sadness, joy, or understanding, only a black nothing that was blacker than black; a vantablack, from which no light escapes, a true abyss that sends the brain reeling with its absence of color.  Sir Grav stood with his back turned to her, talking to whom she recognized as the captain of the ship (his uniform helped in that regard), but it felt as though he could see her, that those dark, hateful eyes stared through the back of his skull with a wicked leer. Between his fingers was a single, tight roll of paper with a ribbon of smoke flowing from its glowing tip.  That’s what burned her throat and eyes, and she felt in the pit of her stomach that he would smoke nothing less than the finest fox fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Moth, Little Moth,  
> Dancing 'round the flame  
> Seeing light b'yond the night  
> It, through the window, came

Judy turned as quickly as she could, moving behind Big Gid so that she could not see him but hoping more than anything that he could not see her.  Were it Grav’s real self, she had courage aplenty to stand against him, stare him down until  _ he _ blinked; but in her mind, where the maddening absence of any soul in his voice shook her to the core… it would be too great a test of the already precarious safeguards keeping her sane.   _ No _ , she decided,  _ This is no time to play hero.  Sissy will find me at sundown, I will get Briar’s name, and then… go to sleep, I guess.  Or spend some time with my friends here, maybe that can strengthen the safeguards enough to get me back. _  A heavy paw patted her back, yet it felt lighter than a feather.

“I know,” whispered Big Gid, “I hate the smell, too, but it’s only for a little bit.”

A swift nod in agreed, watching as the ropes and pulleys lifted from the hold the first of many crate- and barrel-laden pallets.  As the sun slowly sank to the horizon, the pallets continued to rise up, taken by foxes and rabbits working in shifts, and Big Gid as perhaps the greatest asset; he would squat and hold out his arms, patient as others stacked boxes and barrels into his grasp, and then guided him down the ramp to unload him again (Judy assured to stay as close to him as possible).  All the while, Judy felt Sir Grav’s intense gaze upon her and it kept her vigilant to act as much to her withdrawn, shy façade as she could.

The final pallet boasted a single, large, metal crate bound in a thick tarp secured to prevent any wandering eyes (and the sea breeze played a foul trick on Judy’s mind to think she heard breathing within).  It was clear that this one would require more than simply Big Gid to carry, though he was definitely part of the team which lifted it, while Judy was on the team to guide it down the ramp and onto the port. At the waiting was a motorized vehicle, one Judy saw was something  _ she  _ knew as a truck (and heard Sir Grav’s boasts about the power of the latest engine, that he was inspired by a local merchant to get one of his own).  This was, in turn, loaded up as twilight grew darker, but not by she and Big Gid; Sir Grav called them aside.

“I could not help but notice,” he said with a brilliantly false smile, “how well you two work together.  Your coordination is nothing short of entertaining. Quite the feat, as it is something I’ve only seen in mated foxes.  Are you, perhaps, brothers?” As he spoke, Sir Grav tucked under an arm his cane, a posh piece of equipment with a handle plated in golden leaves and branches, so that he might reach into his vibrantly red overcoat to pull out the metal case Judy recalled from the night of Lovey’s performance.  Both foxes remained silent as he flicked open the case to pull out another red, black-tipped cigarette to hold between his lips, snapping the case shut to stow it once more.

“No, Sir, we’s cousins,” Big Gid answered when Sir Grav addressed them, both keeping their heads and eyes down.

“Ah yes, of course,” Sir Grav said softly, patronizingly, and reached into a different pocket, one on the outside and nearer the hip of his coat, to pull out a single match.  “It takes a great deal of  _ trust _ to do what you two can with so little correspondence,” he said, and held out the match towards Judy.  She glanced up from beneath the bill of her cap at Sir Grav’s expectant paw, and chanced a glimpse to Big Gid, but he provided no answer other than that he looked as confused and wary as she did.

So, Judy stepped forward, silently accepting the ignitable length of wood as Sir Grav leaned in the slightest bit, holding the cigarette in his mouth.  She only lifted her head enough to see below his nose and then sparked the match with her claw (something she’d seen her older relatives do plenty of times), cradling the flame in the hollow of her palm against the seaside wind.  The warmth felt nice and the light on her face relaxed her a little bit as she lit the cigarette, watching as the paper smoldered and the smoke stung.

The odor was putrid, however, despicable, like enmity incarnate and it made tears well; not from pain or sadness, though, rather the injustice that something like that could  _ exist _ , much less in her own mind.  Judy’s face set as she stared at the fox-fur cigarette, knowing that it was not a last resort for the destitute as Lovey believed but a punishment to “claim a debt”, and it set her blood to roil and churn in ways she had not felt in a long, long time.  It took every ounce of willpower not to strike it from Sir Grav’s mouth, knowing that it would be the last thing she ever did in that dreamworld, and with her goal so close it would be folly to pick a fight now.  _ I need to make  _ this _ world a better place before I can even start with the real one, and that’s the first thing I’ll do once I’m out of here,  _ she determined,  _ What “savior” could I be if I let such evil reside in my own heart? _

“Where have I seen those eyes before?” cooed Sir Grav.  The bill of Judy’s cap raised enough that their eyes indeed locked, and with the match illuminating her face she did not even have the waning sun’s shadow to hide in.  She tried to look away, but it seemed every steel virtue upholding her heart and spirit objected to an iota ceded to him. “Such beautiful, righteous eyes. I  _ know _ they ring a bell…” he said, holding the cigarette from his lips.  Judy ducked away, flicking her wrist to snuff the match and walk back towards Big Gid.  “Hold,” Sir Grav commanded, and tapped his cane once into the dock, “Do not turn away from your punishment, Mr. Fox, or it  _ will _ worsen.”

_ Punishment…?  _ Judy doubted, but cringed as sense refilled her,  _ I stared at him too long.  A stupid,  _ stupid  _ rule, but I need to pick my battles, especially when I’m so close to getting what I need. _  So, obediently, she faced the consequences of her actions, watching from beneath the bill of her cap at his body language.

“Good lad,” he said, releasing a puff of smoke to waft into her face, “A fair piece of advice, Mr. Fox: know what you are.”  Quick as a whip, his wrist flicked the ebony shaft of his cane to strike at Judy’s arm, a strike that would surely sting but leave no lasting, visible mark.  Except he missed, or rather, she  _ dodged _ .

Judy’s police training and sense of justice no longer allowed his degradation, and though she could not fix a broken world from where she stood, she could at least defy one act of cruelty.  The cane whiffed with precision, snapping in such a way that if Judy leaned to the side it would never hit her; and so she did. Her keen, violet eyes watched his movements with honed understanding.  Yes, Sir Grav could boast some degree of martial prowess but she was better, faster, slyer. In a swift, violent motion Sir Grav stepped forward in a fencer’s attack at the side of her head, but Judy responded in kind with a momentary step back to dodge a second time.  A third strike he readied by tossing the cane in the air to catch the other end and then swinging in a wide, punishing arch, but her forearm sprang up to deftly block it, catching the shaft beneath the golden-headed cane to use the muscle and fur of her arm as a cushion of the blow.

Once more, their eyes locked in the waning light, and hers seemed to shine with rebellious purity against his dark, unamused animosity.  Sir Grav lowered his cane, though, holding at its middle and watching her return to Big Gid. He pulled out a second case, more of a box, which he put out his cigarette in and then stored the remaining stub, before approaching the large fox.

_ That was really stupid of me _ , Judy worried, feeling the momentary rush of battle drain to leave behind momentary regret, knowing that she just stood up to a knight of the Blessed Court.  If she were staying in the Burrow beyond that evening it would spell serious trouble for her, and surely anyone close to her.  _ I’ve already pushed my luck to its limits, it’s really a wonder things aren’t worse than they are.  No more heroics, no more derring do. Get Mister Briar’s name and get out,  _ she decided for the n th time, and then glanced up at the grocer,  _ He can handle just about anything, so I shouldn’t worry too much.  Even if Grav hits him, he likely wouldn’t feel it. _

“You are… ‘Big Gid’, if I recall correctly,” he stated, holding his cane behind his back and leaning closer to look up into the shaggy face.

The bright blue eyes darted away from Sir Grav’s, even averting his face before he answered, “Y-yessir.”

Standing upright once more, Sir Grav slid the cane so his grasp was nearer the end and wheeled it about to point at Judy, “And what is your cousin’s name?”  She saw it all, and it all happened in an instant. Big Gid’s head pivoted towards the gray vixen as Sir Grav’s arm and body pulled back to ready a swing, but his movements were fast and the golden head swung up into Big Gid’s blindspot, connecting with his jaw in a sickening crack that sent the giant stumbling.  Sir Grav continued, grabbing the cane with both fists at the end of his swing to wheel it around, over his own head, and striking at Big Gid’s sternum to knock him onto the pier.

Were it Judy, she could have evaded each attack without so much as a graceless step, but as it was she could only watch in mounting horror as the swift-footed Sir Grav advanced, cane held like an axe swung high to bring it low, connecting with Big Gid’s face again.

**_Thwack!_ **

_ It’s just a dream…  _ Judy pleaded.

**_Thwack!_ **

_ It’s not real! _ she cringed.

**_Thwack!_ **

_ I can’t…! _

**_Thwap!_ **

It  _ was  _ only a dream.  And Big Gid  _ wasn’t  _ real.  Judy knew it.  She knew each time she defied the order of the Burrow, no matter how unjust it was, it sank her a little deeper into her own mind and chipped away at her chances of getting back to her  _ real  _ friends, in the  _ real  _ world.  But she could not be true to herself if she stood by and watched such malice, even if it  _ wasn’t _ real.  Every make believe muscle moved of their own accord, and she flung herself upon Big Gid to take the final blow on her back.  Luckily, the head of the cane missed her neck so the shaft bounced off, surely to leave a wicked bruise, and she collapsed from the force while holding onto the shaggy head in sobbing, trembling desperation.  But it seemed to stop the onslaught, and crying still she tucked her face into Big Gid’s cheek, feeling the weak breath against her ear while carefully hugging him as close as she dared.

Sir Grav panted, and by the shuffling of his jacket it sounded like he was correcting any dishevelment from the physical exertion, and maybe he even pulled out a handkerchief to wipe clean any stray, scarlet drops.  “You should keep a better eye on your cousin, Mr. Fox, clumsy oaf that he is,” Sir Grav said and tossed the bloodied handkerchief onto the back of Judy’s head, “But then,  _ he _ can hardly be blamed, can he.”  Sir Grav walked away, and then drove away, leaving her with the sounds of the waves against the pier and ship.

A pair of paws grabbed her from behind, so she held tighter onto the large head, “Judith…” came a soft, sororal voice.

“Sissy?” she whimpered, and looked up to find another set of bright, blue eyes looking back, and it was, it was Sissy, but wearing a weathered knit cap and a heavy, baggy coat.

“You need to let go, love, or else we can’t get him into the cart.”

Behind her was Big Gid’s cart, and easily a dozen different foxes and rabbits standing at the ready with poles and a giant tarp for a makeshift stretcher.  Judy thought she saw the cart at the dock earlier, but before she could consider it further she was carried off in a daze by the scarlet vixen as the quick crew, of both long ears and short, fastened together a means to hoist the massive fox up into his own vehicle (long since emptied of the crates).  Judy watched with dawning understanding in the low sunset light about what was happening with deep, choking breaths as she attempted to wipe tears onto her sleeves.

“Hup!” said two strong laborers, one a fox and the other a rabbit, as they hoisted Judy from the pier and into the cart near Big Gid’s head.  Sissy hopped up beside Judy, but only for a moment to embrace her shoulders, “I shall go on ahead to the tavern and ready some treatment for him.  It’s up to  _ you _ to assure he gets there.”  And she was gone.

The handkerchief wrung in her paws as she sat beside Big Gid’s weakly gasping head.  Judy scooted in closer, trying to lift his head into her lap, sniffing back tears as she took care to wipe his mouth, “I’m so sorry, Gid,” she whimpered, listening for any signs of response.  The cart was secured to a dozen strong bodies of fellow dockworkers, and with a chorus of grunts and heaves, they got the vehicle rolling down the pier, accompanied by the heavy thunk of wooden wheels on wooden planks.

_ This is all my fault,  _ she choked, dabbing blood from his lips to clean his face,  _ I had to be such a hero, didn’t I, staring down the villain without any concern for how it affects others.  Saying whatever I had to say, doing whatever I had to do… I’m nothing more than a meddler. _

And then the sun sank behind the horizon; in its finality, it burst a disgusting green light, triggering the buckling whine that rang through her ears with intensity.  Judy braced against it but focused on her charge, rather than her fears. It grew from a steady note to fluctuating tones, and she bristled when words formed from the din:

“Can’t help a fox.”

_ Stop it _ .

“Can’t help… a fox.”

_ I said, ‘stop it’. _

“ …Can’t help… he’s a fox!”

_ You’re wrong, I  _ can  _ help him! _

“He can’t help it… he’s a fox!”

_ Wait… that sounds like… me? _

“He can’t help it, Grav, he’s a fox!”

Judy remembered when she said that, she was six-years-old, Woodlands Elementary, playtime after lunch next to the swingset (the one with the new rubber seats that made funny fart noises if you bounced on them the right way).  Grav, also six, was teasing Gideon Grey again, a fox twice his size and three years older; could have picked him up and tossed him onto the roof if he wanted to, but he never did. Never fought back, never yelled, only walked away.

Maybe that was why Judy wanted to help him.  To stand up for him because maybe he could help her make the world a better place.  Maybe all he needed was someone to be his friend. Judy could be his friend, she was good at that, ask anyone.  Everyone liked Judy, especially Grav. So, Judy stood up for Gideon Grey lots of times, but this time she put herself between the two boys and gave her best defense of Gideon Grey: “He can’t help it, Grav, he’s a fox!”  The adults used it all the time, never when a fox was around but that’s okay, Gideon Grey already knows he’s a fox.

Well, it certainly worked!  Grav backed off and promised not to pick on him, or  _ anyone _ else,  _ anymore _ .  Judy would call that a victory!  Gideon Grey wasn’t too happy about it, though?  He was angry and stormed off, saying, “Yeah, I’m a fox, alright!”  He got real mean after that, too, started picking on others with his ferret friend, Travis Blackfoot.  Whenever Judy tried to stop him, he got angry again and gave her a scowl that no one else got.

Nick had that same scowl after the press conference at the start of the Pred-Scare… the same look of disappointment and betrayal that confused Judy.  It confused her as a child, and confused her as an adult. Until she understood what it meant. What it said. What trust meant to a fox.

“Fox.”  As though everything wrong with a mammal could be summed up in one word, one syllable.

Judy wept over Big Gid’s face, shoulders quaking as her throat burned in choking sobs,  _ Why…? _ she challenged,  _ Haven’t I apologized enough?  Must I still wallow in my regrets and failures?  Can I not save myself? _

“Oh, are those tears for  _ me _ ?” came a soft groan, startling her as she looked down to a pair of eyes, one bloodshot and sporting a fat shiner, the other brilliantly blue.

Her arms wrapped around his head like the chin strap on a helmet, “Gid!” she cried, muffling his whimpers before releasing his face, “Oh my gosh, you’re okay, you’re  _ okay _ !”

“Takes more than a li’l bunny with a stick to get Big Gid down,” he chuckled, licking at his swollen lip, “I can’t tell ya’ how many times my cart ran me over, and I still had to chase after it.  Naw, he got a lucky hit on me, and tha’s that.”

“You could’ve said so sooner!” she exclaimed, somewhere between laughter, sobbing, and indignation, “I thought he gave you a concussion, or something.”

“I’m bein’ carted off to a tavern with my head in the lap of the Burrow’s cutest vixen,” he grinned, “Lemme enjoy this.”

“I should smack you,” she warned in a smirk, raising a fist over his nose to which he held up both palms in feigned submission.  She wiped away tears of joy and grief as his paws folded on his belly, “I’m so sorry, Big Gid, I know he hit you because of me.”

“Yeah, and he gonna get in trouble for it,” the large fox said in a sing-song sort of way.

“What?  How do you mean?”

“It’s because I didn’t take your hits for you and he wallops on me anyway, which ain’t square,” he began, continuing when her confusion persisted, “When a fox gets caught slyin’ a bunny, the bunny gets to hit ‘em, fair’s fair, but can’t hit ‘em hard unless the fox runs or if another takes the hit instead.  I was gonna take your hard hit for ya’ if you kept not gettin’ hit like you was, but then you took his full swing!” He then grinned smugly, “The whole dock must’ve seen it, and Sir Grav’s been tricky for a bunny, so this is a long time comin’.”

“It was a basic defense, and I saw his attack from a mile away,” she playfully dismissed, but beamed all the same, “Still, those rules are kind of… depressing…”

“Oh, don’t be depressed, Jude, you’re pretty when you smile.”

“Thanks, Big Gid,” she swooned, and gave him a smile while caressing his cheek until his eyes closed serenely, and then her thoughts buzzed like a hornets’ nest.   _ Depression… _ she considered, eyes brightening as the streetlights flickered on, one-by-one by the trusty lamplighters,  _ I… I’m depressed.  I haven’t cried  _ this  _ much since my pet bird died as a kid, and then when I saw Nick again under the bridge, and it seems like everything I do hits me with a sackful of guilt.  The longer I’ve stayed down here, the heavier everything’s felt, the harder it is to  _ do _ anything.  It was like this back at the start of the Pred-Scare, after I left the city and withdrew into myself for weeks.  Am I…  _ clinically _ depressed right now? _

The thought was ironically uplifting, and for the first time since she fell into the Burrow, she saw the moon.  It was a frail sliver of silver hanging high in the sky, but it seemed to grow brighter and fuller as her mind kept running.   _ The Night Howler drug causes  _ depression _ , but why? _ she wondered,  _ What possible use would anyone have for a drug that  _ causes _ depression?  There are so many drugs to stop it, but why…  What if Robert Briar was clinically depressed?  _ Judy gasped,  _ With his fur color and age group that could narrow him down substantially, so much so I wouldn’t even  _ need  _ his nickname.  If he was depressed, he might’ve even… _ she halted, and didn’t continue that thought,  _ This is enough to build a profile, and with Nick’s help I can find him.  Thanks, Sissy, you gave me what I needed to figure it out for myself, just like you always do,  _ she grinned with growing determination.

Judy looked down at the reposed giant resting his head in her lap and discretely pulled out the notebook.  “Give my love to Sissy and Nick _ , _ ” Judy whispered and leaned in to kiss his nose before opening up a blank page to stare at it, fingering the charcoal pencil.   _ Okay, time for a crazy idea, _ and with it held close against her chest so no one else could see, she wrote, “Dawson:  EVAC !!”, closed the notebook to tuck inside her coat pocket, crossed her arms, and held her eyes shut as tight as she could.  Judy thought of being a rabbit, of long ears and buck teeth, of a shorter tail and nose. She thought of the farm, of her parents, of her friends, waiting for her to return.   _ Hopps out. _

* * *

It was still dark.  The air was cool and the aroma of plants welcomed her, but not with the harsh sensitivity of a fox’s sense of smell; no, hers was a bunny’s nose, wiggling once more.  Her long ears rose up to swivel at the sound of wheels, and paired with the slow forward momentum, she was clearly seated in a wheelchair. Like before, her arms were weak and legs refused to move, even movement of the neck and head proved difficult, but she could still move her paws, fingers, and toes.  Tired, violet eyes opened and weak, smacking lips wavered with each harried (but increasing) breath.

“Take care, Miss Hopps, you are still in recovery,” instructed a gentle, masculine voice from behind, likely enough whoever was pushing the wheelchair.  He sounded familiar, but as of yet, unplaced.

She tried to speak, but her throat hurt so badly and her chest under such pressure, that breathing was all she managed to do.  Still, her head rose and eyelids lightened, looking about to find the most beautiful garden a bunny could have the fortune to witness.  Tall, ornate lamps lined the smooth-stoned path to a grand archway. She was garbed in what must be her finest gown, clutching in one paw a fancy notebook and pencil.  It was like lightning shot through her as she looked about, attempting to panic but her body was far too weak.

“Miss Hopps!” the voice said again, and the wheelchair stopped when a tall, naval uniformed rabbit with golden fur and eyes of hazel came around to kneel beside her, “Please be calm, my lady, or else you could fall to brain fever again; and then Sir Grav would surely have my foot,” he explained, daring a smirk to punctuate his sentence.

_ I’m Lovey… _ Judy realized, paw weakly gripping around the notebook in her lap,  _ Which means it’s too late. _  She collapsed into the wheelchair from whatever upright position her powerless form could muster, and felt a defeat she never thought she’d ever know.   _ As a fox, I was safe from the effects of a drug designed for a bunny, at least for a little while, but now… I am surely succumbed to it. _  What little strength remained in her propped an elbow on the arm of the wheelchair to cover her eyes in a palm.

“Shall we return to the manor, my lady?” Mister Briar asked.

Judy… Lovey looked to him and managed a smile with a slow shake of her head.  A word was attempted but her throat stung again.

He smiled patiently, sadly, “The healers proclaim it a miracle that you are out of bed only a week after being afflicted with brain fever, but… they don’t know if you’ll ever talk… or  _ sing _ again, not after that scream took your voice away.”

Listening, Lovey felt reality settling upon her shoulders, so as any proper lady should, she squared them and corrected her posture.  Without a voice, she pulled up the notebook and flipped through it slowly: “NH drug causes depression”, “Male rabbit, gold fur, hazel eyes, mid-to-late 20’s, clinical depression”, “Hexward”, along with everything else she learned as a fox.  When a blank page was next found, she wrote, “Name?”.

A kind chuckle left his lips when he gave an amused smile, “I am still Robert Briar, honorably tasked as your escort until you are fully recovered.”

“Nick Name?” Lovey added to the note.

Surprised, his eyes darted up from the paper to her own set gaze, and what it asked was so sincere that Mister Briar hardly seemed able to deny such a request, “When those close to me are especially unpeeved, I am known as ‘Bertie’, my lady.”

“Lovey,” she wrote on the next page, paused, and then added: “I insist”.

Bertie held his breath, knowing that such intimacy with a lady above his station was…  _ unbecoming _ , but to deny her request would surely be worse, so he nodded with a gentle smile, “As you wish, Lovey.”

“Grav?” Lovey jotted down on the next page, but added a “Sir” before showing it.

“He is preparing the Blessed Queen’s gift, and will join us after presenting it,” Bertie explained in a low, dreading tone, but was unable to stop himself from continuing, “ever since  _ that day _ on the dock, his fortune turned dark.  Never have I seen him so upset, Lovey, and I fear the worse for… whatever this ‘gift’ is.”

“Why?” Lovey hurriedly wrote with eager curiosity.

Bertie glanced around with a sweep of his ears and then leaned in as close as he dared to whisper, “Word spread like the wind ever since he struck a fox without the right to do so.  Some say he is cursed and cannot go the hour without some bad luck finding him, one way or another. Sir Grav intends to find favor with Her Majesty, the Blessed Queen with a gift of  _ great  _ fortune.”

“What gift?” Lovey wrote, but Bertie shook his head.

“I only heard mutterings when he teetered on madness, until I gleaned some information about it last night,” he explained.  At her gesturing to continue Bertie set his face resolutely, “I am sorry, my lady, but to relay what I heard would only send you back to the sickbed-” but halted when she grabbed his arm with a strength he did not think was still in her.  Yes, he was steeled in his conviction, but even without a voice  _ her _ conviction rang truer still.  Bertie sighed, and leaned in further, “I only heard Sir Grav say ‘His mounted, shaggy head will make a grand gift’,” and continued at her distraught reaction, “We can still return to the manor, Miss Hopps.”

“Lovey, I insist,” she showed again and placed a paw on his knuckles, to which Bertie nodded.  She sat upright and looked down the garden path to the palace and its majestic architecture; running was not an option.   _ “His shaggy head”… _ she repeated,  _ Like what Nick and Gid feared before I came in here, could it be that such an evil practice dares to show up in  _ my _ head?  If this is going to be my personal purgatory, _ Judy determined,  _ then I’m nipping this in the bud.  I will neither abide nor fear evil in my own heart; perhaps a day late and a dollar short to return topside, but here, I might as well be queen. _

Bertie guided her into the warmth and light of the regal outdoor sconces, the door held open by an armored guard in shining steel armor and brilliant crimson tabards with white trim, the crest of which she recognized:  _ Knotash… does that mean the “Blessed Court” really  _ is _ the House of Blessings?  The ship’s sails were up so I didn’t see the crest there, but here… they’re everywhere.  I guess that’s a good sign, Knotash has always been a refuge for the less fortunate. _

There was not a single fox to meet them on their way inside from the garden, only the long ears of the palace servants and guards, either scurrying as leaves on the wind or standing still as stones, respectively.  Lovey could hear a faint ado coming from behind a set of heavy oaken doors, bursting with the commotion of a royal court. Within a brilliantly lit hall with high, vaulted ceilings, draped in beautiful banners and ornate decor, must have been several hundred bunnies seated at tables around a wide, carpeted walkway that lead to, what Lovey could immediately see, was a tall, deific throne, and atop which sat only the Blessed Queen herself.  She was a dainty bunny with soft, snow white fur (that which could be seen), and garbed in violet, silver, and red finery; her diadem, a beautiful piece of silver craft inlaid with amethysts and rubies, covered her face with a gossamer veil.

Bertie wheeled her past the gentry, and the knights, and the dukes and earls and lords, up until he, himself, could go no further.  “I shall be nearby, Lovey,” he whispered and handed her off to an albino rabbit with pale white fur and bright pink eyes, the herald of the Blessed Queen.  He said nothing but looked very anxious, though he tried to smile, and was checking a bright gold pocket watch on their approach. In the back of her mind, Lovey remembered seeing him in the audience of her last performance; perhaps it was he who told the Blessed Queen about her.

“Pardon our tardiness, Mister McTwisp, but the fresh air did Miss Hopps a world of good,” Bertie explained and departed as the herald wheeled Lovey further in.  Further in, further in, until her chair stopped to the left of Her Majesty’s throne. Lovey could hardly know what to feel, sitting mere feet away from the Blessed Queen, and wondered if it was because it might help her heal, being so close to the most powerful source of magic in the Burrow.

“Presenting,” called Mister McTwisp when he returned to his own position, “Sir Grav of the Blessed Court, with a gift for Her Majesty the Blessed Queen to bring her and her reign great fortune.”  At the far end, the double doors, immense and intimidating, ornate and magnificent, opened with a quiet groan from the wood and iron. In walked Sir Grav in his finest coat of white and dark blue, marching with purpose as his wretched cane kept pace.  Behind him was a truly enormous metal crate.

_ That was from the ship _ , Judy recognized,  _ But it was re-wrapped since I saw it… I guess it was less than an hour ago, but a week by this place’s time.  It’s way too big for Gid, in any case, so maybe it really is a giant good luck charm. _  She breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but kept her eyes on the approaching Sir Grav with his crew of rabbits pulling the crate along.

“Your Majesty,” he said in absolute deference and admiration, falling to a knee before the throne, cane and hat on the ground beside him, “By blessing of the court, I bring before you, Your Highness, an item of such profound, voluminous luck that it shall keep the kingdom safe for  _ centuries _ …”  He glanced to Lovey with those dark, malevolent eyes, but only for an instant before they darted to the Blessed Queen.  A gesture of permission was all her response, and all the reason Sir Grav needed to jump to his feet and pivot to face his crew.  The bindings and tarp pulled away, revealing a cage to the astonishment, wonder, shock, and awe of the court.

_ A lion…? _ Judy gawked.  A great, tawny fellow, crouched inside the cage with a muzzle locked around his shaggy, maned head, thick steel shackles anchoring him to the mobile platform.  He looked starved, beaten, disrobed and barely moving, barely flinching when he was revealed.  _ But… why?  Who? Could he be Lionheart?  He’d be the most prominent lion I can think of, or Nurse Wild, whom I saw only today in the real world.  Then again, he could be Officer Delgato, since we’re on the precinct bowling team, or Officer Johnson, because I babysat his kids once or twice.  He could even be that nice newspaper vendor down the street from my apartment; but  _ why _?  Is it because Gideon imagined a lion as a child, so now  _ I _ ’m imagining one? _  Countless thoughts of symbolism involving lions raced through her head in an instant, from courage to pride, nobility to ferocity, strength to laziness.

“…I need only to remove it from the beast’s body,” Sir Grav explained to knowing, sparse amusement of the court.  The tarp which covered the cage was spread across the carpeted walk further along, and so wheeled over.

_ …What? _ Judy disbelieved.

“But first,” he went on, talking as the crew of rabbits worked with systematic fluidity to remove the wheels and walls of the cage to set it upon the tarp, “I shall cleanse its curse; by the blessing of the court.”  Once more, Her Majesty gestured approval. In were brought thin glass walls and erected, braced on either side of the tarp so to protect the eager, onlooking rabbits of the court. Before he shrugged off his coat, he pulled a box from its pocket, loosed the decorative string, and lifted its lid.  Inside was a single midnight-blue blossom of Night Howler. One of the crew received the flower and replaced it on the end of a long-shafted device; this device, as it was soon clear, was used to force the flower through the muzzle and inside the lion’s mouth. Heavy ropes kept the maned head down so to remove the bindings of its jaws before the flower could take hold, and when it did his shoulders hunched, body flailed against the chains as savage power filled his weakened, growling form.  “Behold, O Blessed Court, the true form that we fear,” Sir Grav said in cold admiration, unmoved as the lion bellowed a carnal roar to send excited terror through the crowd, “And I, your humble knight, shall slay it.” Applause thundered.

Judy watched in renewed horror, and felt she could scream.  She wanted to scream in indignation, more than anything, but the pain in her throat was like hot barbs piercing her flesh.  Fists gripped the arms of the wheelchair as her muscles strained to move, yet could not find the strength to even reach out, wave to get someone’s attention or bang on the table.  As if fear made her powerless, even though she long since found that fear could hone her senses and push her limits so long as it did not control her; now, however, it crippled her.  Fear that she was too weak. Fear that she would only worsen things -- and a primal fear of the savage predator. Fears she thought conquered welled inside her chest and burned her throat.

Sir Grav had a spear, which he used on the lion.  The lion had fangs and claws, which he tried to use on Sir Grav.  Judy could not bear to watch it, but to turn away would mean she let it happen.  She looked up at the Queen, pleading in hoarse gasps until it might rend her throat to speak only once, “No more…” she tried.  To this, the royal ear shifted and the veiled face turned in address to Lovey. With a single gesture, the court quieted and Sir Grav ceased, though the lion still bellowed and raved; with a second gesture, Sir Grav was instructed to end the event and so did with his  _ own  _ gesture to the crew of archers and their crossbows.

_ No… _ Judy revulsed, for worse of all was the court’s deafening applause.  She wanted to scream. To scream until every gasp in her lungs ran dry, regardless of the pain.  However, the Silver Belle does  _ not _ scream.  Likewise, the Steel Horn does  _ not _ scream.  “Monsters…” she rasped, fighting through the searing agony, gulping down the fire in her chest, and then “Monsters!” she rang, a voice which filled a concert hall now burst the courtroom as she scoured her body for the strength to rise up, “Fiends!  Demons guised in mortal flesh! How can you do this to your fellow mammal, to revel in their torment and despair? You evil, bloodthirsty monsters!”

The court stared with empty eyes and empty faces, color draining along with the banners and tablecloths, carpets and drapes, everything turned lethargic gray to crumble.  All the masks faded and disappeared, all the fronts and all the falsities. There was no more imagination to hide behind, no more dreams to blind the mind, only a harsh acceptance of what it all, truly was.

“And  _ you _ …” Judy choked, addressing the single remaining bunny, “the ‘Blessed Queen’  _ indeed _ , doling out edicts and sentences regardless of who they hurt.”  She looked about at the void, decaying courtroom, once filled with smiling façades now only ghosts and tragic recollections, “This isn’t a ‘memory palace’ or a lucid dream, and there were never any ‘safeguards’.  It’s where I withdrew in my depression, blaming myself for the Pred-Scare, wallowing in my first transgression and up to my last. I hurt so  _ many _ innocent predators, all because I thought I knew better.”  She looked up to the throne again and it was taller than before.  All the things she called herself, this “Blessed Queen” amongst every other accusation echoing in the empty hall, built that throne higher, gaudier, and adorned it with depictions of rabbits and other prey species holding the seat at the very top in exultation… while on the backs of foxes and other predator species in oppression.  Her Majesty was so high she seemed miles away, and yet still so close that Judy could feel her breath through the veil she wore.

But… there was one thing Judy never dared to say, to utter or even consider, and perhaps it was withholding this one thing back which made it all the worse to begin with.  Here, at the end of it all, at the very bottom of her heart, she resolved to do one thing, to say that one thing she needed all her courage to say: “I forgive you”. With that, a hairline crack shot up the throne like a bolt of lightning, and widened when joined by a storm of rupturing crevices, sending immense wedges of the pale stone to fall, to collapse and turn to ash before it hit the ground.  And as goes the throne, so goes the kingdom…

The courtroom quaked and windows shattered, masonry fell to break through the floor and foundation with a thunderous din.  When the ceiling eroded and fell, the sky above was not a starry night but a deathly pallor extending to the horizon, where it met with a vile black edge.  As the cloud of dust and ash settled, Judy swept over a razed landscape, the purple of her eyes now a sickly pale gray to match the state of her fur. She looked down to find the tarnished diadem, jewels gone and veil torn, and had only the single comforting thought that she held no more regrets… save one.

The heap of ash atop which she stood shifted like sand over a sinkhole, churning violently into a whirlpool that soon revealed a yawning abyss.  Judy watched as the kingdom of dust drained away into the ever-widening aperture, a roaring gale whipped about her but she only stared as it all fell away until nothing remained.  Nothing… except the lion’s shifting form. One arm, and then the other, pushed against an unseen ground to lift up, to stand, to stare back.

Judy filled with a primal fear as the lion advanced and grew, larger and larger, to a size that no mammal had any right to be.  He towered, colossal, standing in the abyss yet his head reached into the sky. She gazed up at her final transgression, whom she brought into being only to witness a painful death, too scared to stop it.  Though she had only a shred of courage to spare, Judy held it close and lifted her chin. “If this is the consequence of my cowardice,” she said, “then so be it.”

* * *

 

“Beloved,” whispered the lion, in a voice softer than the echo of a butterfly’s wing, yet louder than overhead thunder, she was reminded, “you are  _ brave _ .”

From his breath came a small, powerful golden flame that spread over his lips and to his face, until it enveloped his mane in a tremendous burst of noonday sunlight, so bright yet also painless to look at.  The force of those words shook the ash from her like the dirt off a carrot drawn out of the earth, but yet, it was no more powerful than a sigh as she fell back into a familiar embrace. The sky above was brilliant blue, checkered with full, white clouds, while the ground was covered in rolling fields of jade and emerald grass.  Judy lay in comfort, in warmth, in relief, in Bo’s arms.

“It’s okay, Juju, I gotcha,” he said.  Bo said many things, but what endeared him was what he  _ didn’t _ say, or couldn’t say.  The last time he pulled her back from the edge, and she was still figuring it all out, Judy asked him why he loved her; and he could only answer that he loved her ever since he first met her when they were kids, and that he would love her until it was the last thought he could ever think.  As to  _ why _ … he could never explain  _ why _ , as though he could not explain why “2 + 2 = 4”, that it was only a simple, irrefutable fact of life.

So there she was, with her simple, foundational rock Bo, at the end of it all.  Judy wondered if he was always there, though; in Nic’s empowerment and adoration of her, in Big Gid’s bashfulness and strength, in Sissy’s protectiveness and embrace, even in Bertie’s eyes and voice.  Always at the ready to catch her if she got too close to the Abyss. “So,” she finally muttered after an instantaneous eternity nestled in Bo’s chest, “this begins my life as a vegetable. It’s not so bad, really, all things considered.”

“What about everything you learned?”

Judy looked down at her paws, holding her trusty notebook with the metal spiral, and the carrot pen in which she recorded important memos to herself.  “I suppose Nick would need them to solve the case,” she sighed, smiling to herself, “and Gideon would probably stop baking if he thought his whipped cream put me into a coma.”  Her thumb brushed the pen’s button, “There’s something recorded on this, isn’t there?” Judy asked.

“Ayeup,” confirmed Bo.

“Do I know what it is?”

“Double ‘ayeup’,” he chuckled.

It certainly felt like she did, so Judy grinned contentedly while thinking on what the lion told her, “Who was he?”

“Someone you know, but haven’t met, yet.”

“Hey, Bo…” she said after a pause, and looked up, “What was that thing you would say to me, to calm me down?”

“That the world is made a better place because you’re in it,” he answered, resting his cheek to her forehead.

“I mean… the  _ other _ thing.”

“Oh,” Bo said, and smiled simply, “ _ My _ world is made a better place because you’re in it.”

Judy quietly moaned her affirmation and hooded her eyes serenely, watching as the sun drifted to the horizon, “I should head back, shouldn’t I.”

“Another minute couldn’t hurt,” Bo said, “but they would be lost without you, wouldn’t they.”

“As I would be lost without them,” Judy knew, and looked up at a starlit panorama as its waxing gibbous moon glowed brighter, brighter until it was full, and her eyes opened at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Grav's cane is a reference to Rumpelstiltskin's cane in "Once Upon A Time".
> 
> The setting sun in this combination reference is the green flash of light from "Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End" and "Inside Out", specifically, a key memory of the emotion "Disgust", who is characterized with the color green.
> 
> The royal herald in this chapter is based on Nivins McTwisp, from "Alice in Wonderland (2010)".
> 
> And so we come to the end of this part of the story... we'll pick it up back in the real world in the next chapter (for reals, this time).
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the waking world, dream-traveler, you'll find that very little time has passed since you left. Got your journal securely in paw (or hoof)? Good. Don't forget it because it can fade away quicker than you'd like...

How chilled could a summer night seem, even amongst friends… if not for the uncertainty that one might not awaken…

“I wish she hadn’t said that,” worried Gideon.

“Said what, ‘see you on the other side’?” asked Nick.

“Yeah; that’s what someone says before they do something really dangerous or stupid.”

“ _ Both _ , in our case,” Nick said, and tried to flash his iconic grin but he simply didn’t feel up to it, not with Judy cradled in his arms showing only the barest life signs.  “With the quotas for ‘dangerous’ and ‘stupid’ surpassed as they are, we should practice some caution and smarts by hightailing it out of here. The last thing we need is for some ill-timed Hoppses to spot an unconscious Judy.”

The stouter fox leaned through the open rear of his van, arranging a pair of identical plasticwares so that the whipped cream poisoned with Night Howler sat in a vat beneath Mrs. Hopps’s three-bean casserole.  “I think they’d be more helpful than suspicious, Stretch, besides, Judy said we should head back into the house if she doesn’t come to,” he reminded, peeking around the open door at the lit farmhouse across the yard.  “We were  _ just  _ in there, so would it be weird if we returned so soon?”

“Yes, and I’m sure  _ Psychopath, Sr. _ needs another reason to target us for whatever he’s scheming,” scoffed the taller fox, remembering still those hateful eyes and the masking leer of Magnus Hopps, farm-uncle to Judy and father to Grav, “While we might be under whatever protection Stu and Bonnie can afford us, quite frankly, I have bad experiences with loitering after kicking a hornets’ nest.  Regardless, per Judy’s instruction, you are to follow my lead and my lead says we don’t stick around any longer than we need to.”

“That Magnus fellow really has you shook, don’t he?” Gideon observed, clapping the shut lid on the vat before closing and locking the van doors, “He gave me an extra large combo of the creeps and a side of fries, but what can he do with the entire house watching him?”

“I don’t expect him to do  _ anything _ until we’re well out of sight,” he explained, following Gideon around the side of the vehicle facing away from the Hoppses’ farmhouse, and carefully stepped into the front seat as the door was closed behind him.  “Magnus likely knows better than to let any ‘accidents’ lead back to him; as it stands, Sleeping Beauty here is the luckiest charm we can have in that regard.” With the utmost tenderness, Nick lay her limp, trembling form across the seat with her head on his thigh, and forlornly touched her ear.

Gideon climbed in behind the wheel.  “Stretch, you’re worryin’ me again,” he warned, seeming to bite back something and recover, “I hope you ain’t saying he’s some kind of  _ mob  _ boss?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but my extensive knowledge of Zootopia’s citizenry is, regrettably, limited to what I can hear on the street and doesn’t go much higher than a public-access elevator.  Magnus is penthouse level info, privy to only the most trusted lowlifes and assorted thuggery. I have my own conclusions to draw as an outsider looking in, of course, but details are scarce and those in the know have very…  _ specific  _ backgrounds.”

“I’ll be honest,” Gideon began and revved the engine before checking his mirrors to back out of the driveway, “all I knew before this weekend was that you sold popsicles and then joined the ZPD, but I’m gathering there’s a great more to it than that.  You’re, what… thirty-somethin’? That’s a bit of past there, I don’t doubt.”

“So it says on the side of the box,” grinned Nick, “But no, I’m proud to say that were it not for Judy’s involvement, I’d be clean of organized crime for a solid decade as an honest, small-time hustler.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement, but I’m gonna let it side for the sake of my sanity,” muttered Gideon, and pulled onto the road heading out of the Hopps family farm.

“A thousand apologies, Your High-and-Mighty-ness, I didn’t mean to offend your sensibilities,” he huffed, eyebrows at a severe arch, “Youth can be such a time of idiocy for us city foxes, but I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Well, us  _ farm _ foxes don’t have youths that extend into the early twenties, so I guess we grow up a bit faster out here,” he dared a smirk.

“Says the kit that stayed at home until his  _ late _ twenties,” Nick smirked back.

“Don’t go belittlin’ my traumatic childhood,” Gideon stated haughtily, playfully, “I had  _ Psycho, Jr. _ twistin’ in my side, you know.”

“I  _ should _ consider myself lucky in that regard,” the taller fox pondered aloud with a dramatic rubbing of his chin, “I didn’t meet  _ my _ archenemy until adulthood.”

“Is this ‘archenemy’ a mob boss, and should I be concerned?” he asked, fingers air-quoting around the steering wheel.

Nick sighed.  “That’s a layered answer.  He’s still a mob boss and didn’t like me for a long,  _ long _ time.  Judy knows this, and it’s actually thanks to her that he won’t kill me on sight today.”  The taller fox continued grinning as he looked out at the dark fields passing by on their exit of the farm, and then turned to the frowning side glance of the driver, “Wanna hear-?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

“You don’t have a mob hit out on ya’,” Gideon rattled off, “That’s all  _ I _ need to know.”

“Too.  Bad,” Nick teased matter-of-factly, “Judy’s out cold, probably on the brink of certain death, and all we can do about it is drive in the general direction of a general hospital,  _ hop _ ing that she makes it there without too many questions asked.  Talking about me is good for my zen and  _ you _ , O curious cousin of mine, opened up that can of worms and so must suffer the consequences.”

“I’ll be suffering alright...” he grumbled.

Nick feigned a wounded tone and with an exaggerated pout, “I thought you liked my stories.”

“I’m sorry, Stretch,” he sighed, “I guess with everything that’s happened today, and now Judy might not wake up because of  _ my _ whipped cream, I might be a bit short.  If you wanna talk about how you -- I dunno -- made goo-goo eyes at some mobster’s daughter or somethin’, I guess that’s okay.”

After a pause, Nick smirked and said, “Actually, it involves a rug made from the fur of a skunk’s butt.”

The van screeched and swerved to the side of the road as Gideon barked with laughter, managing only to shift into neutral gear as he wedged his foot against the brake pedal.  With his head leaned back over the seat, Gideon pounded the door’s armrest as his belly bounced until it sounded like he was finally reining in his jollies. To this, Nick leaned in and swiftly whispered, “Skunk butt fur”, thusly earning another round of snorts and chuckles to end with a faceful of repelling palm.

“A’ight, now I  _ gotta  _ know what happened,” snickered Gideon, wiping tears from his eyes as he drove towards the road in low gear, but lurched back with a yelp-inducing collision of undercarriage with the ground.  The foxes exchanged bewilderment when the rear tires spun fruitlessly for each of the two acceleration attempts. Gideon heaved a heavy sigh as he killed the engine, “You wait here, I’ll go see what’s wrong,” he instructed before exiting, flicking a finger to turn on the hazard lights.

“Yeah, no,” Nick defied, scooping up Judy with as much care as (and perhaps a smidgen more than) the situation permitted to vacate the vehicle out the driver’s side door to follow his cousin around the back, “I’ve seen this movie before, and that’s what someone says before they get killed to death by an escaped ax murderer or xenophobic hillbillies.”

“Then  _ why _ are you bringin’ Judy?  She’s safest  _ inside _ the van, Stretch,” berated Gideon, “And who d’you think lives out here, anyway?”

“Paranoia keeps you alive, Bangs,” he answered, “as such, I’m not letting Carrots here out of my sight, and believe you me she’d do the same if the roles were reversed, except  _ I _ ’d be in a wheelbarrow.”  With the aid of their night vision, it was obvious that the rear tires were partially suspended in a miniature sinkhole initially weakened by the front tires; with the undercarriage resting on a rock jutting at the rim, there wasn’t much potential of getting out without a great deal of help.  “Well,  _ there _ ’s your problem.”

“Thanks for clearing that up for me,” came a huff as Gideon pulled out his phone, “In one of my cleverer moments, I signed up for  Head-to-Tow roadside assistance,” he explained, browsing through his apps with a sweep of a thumb and an opening chime, “since most of my business deals with deliveries, you see.”  He turned his phone sideways and backed up until he could get all the important information about his predicament into a single shot (to which Nick stepped out of view).

“You’ll find no arguments here,” Nick assured, following to sit in the van with the still unresponsive Judy on his knee and against his chest (resisting the urge to use her like a ventriloquist’s dummy).  “So what are we looked at; ten, fifteen minutes, twenty with traffic?”

“Eighty-two, by their estimate,” Gideon explained, maybe a little impressed at the response time, “Looks like they’re stepping up service tonight, for some reason.”

“ _ Eighty… _ ” choked Nick, “Bangs, do you mean to tell me that we’re sitting out in the middle of nowhere with the  _ distinct _ possibility of mortal danger for the next hour and twenty-two minutes?”

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“N-!” he stopped himself, “Ye-!” he stopped himself again, groaned, and then pinched the bridge of his nose in jaw-clenched muttering, “She  _ had _ to test the mysterious drug on herself in an uncontrolled environment, couldn’t wait until we got to the sheriff’s office, no, had a point to prove, didn’t she.”

A patient, bemused Gideon watched with a furrowed brow as he leaned on his steering wheel, cheek in a palm, “Are you done belly-achin’ because my ‘lead’ is sending a heap of mixed signals.”

Nick shot him a look (which Gideon reciprocated) and then calmed to check Judy’s vitals, “Still alive.  Bangs? Word of advice: avoid situations with complicated explanations,” he slumped in the seat and hugged Judy a bit closer, “I guess it was too much to expect her recovery before anyone else saw her like this.  How long would it take to get the paramedics out here?”

“Stu says there’s a bunny-sized ambulance on standby at the hospital that can make it in… half-an-hour, I think?” Gideon recalled, and in answer to Nick’s quirked eyebrow, “Big families with lots of kids mean lots of potential for accidents, I guess.”

“Ah,” the taller fox accepted, and looked out to the long stretch of dark road, when his ears sprung up and eyes shot open, “I see headlights.”  With a  _ hurried  _ utmost care, he handed Judy over to Gideon, “Make sure she’s comfortable, I’m flagging down that car.”

“Stretch!” doubted Gideon, but cradled the bunny as he watched his cousin leap out of the seat, “Are you crazy!  You’d tell some stranger what’s going on rather than a couple of medics?”

“They don’t have to know what’s happening with her, only that we’re stuck!” declared Nick, and ran out into the middle of the road with his arms waving, “Follow my lead, okay?”

“I can’t,  _ I _ have to hold Judy!” he called out of the driver side window, although he ducked the rabbit’s head out of sight, whispering as she trembled again, “Don’t worry, Jude, it’ll be okay, Nick’s jus’ gone nuts, is all; you’re prob’ly used to it by now.”

Nick continued into the center of the oncoming lane, rising up on tiptoes to get his paws as high in the air as he could, tempted to use his borrowed flannel shirt as a makeshift flag.  He laughed in victory as the (noticeably large) vehicle slowed and pulled to their side of the road, headlights glaring through the windshield such that Gideon held up a palm to protect his eyes.  The lights and engine dropped as Nick walked over to the covered pickup truck, putting on his best face for earning favors without the other party prying too deeply. “Hello!” he greeted in a jovial wave, swiftly making his way around the truck’s front towards the driver’s side, “What a stroke of luck, I thought we’d be stuck here all night and then some.”

Out stepped the driver -- to the truck’s groaning suspension -- a tall mammal to fit the size of the vehicle, and when the foxes’ vision re-adjusted from the once-bright headlights, his broad physique impressed an abundance of muscularity.  Unlike Bo’s purposeful athleticism, what stood before them had the undirected bulkiness that came with a lifetime of manual labor; added with his already substantial altitude, the stranger looked more than capable of over-handing Gideon’s van across the field.  Staggering though his height and width were, these were not what sent Nick reeling in strained composure (which, at the end of the second consecutive day of straining composure, was just another Sunday evening for Nick Wilde), but the unmistakable teal shirt worn by someone of the nursing profession, someone who could tell at a glance that Judy was not simply sleeping or exhausted, and more direly, was inclined to ask questions.

He was no older than Gideon, from the looks of it, and while his mane already grew in it resembled what “cropped” would be for a lion, which was still a bushy wreath that covered his cheeks, jaw, and chest, with plenty sticking out the back of his head.  Gideon kept Judy out of sight as he studied the tawny stranger wearing a nurse’s teal smocks under a pair of blue jeans. Try though he might, the stouter fox couldn’t recognize him, which was odd because he thought he knew everyone in Preds’ Corner, but maybe some new faces came by in those months spent at his bakery nearer town.  It suddenly occurred to Gideon that this ambulant lion nurse might be the “Nurse Wild” mentioned earlier in the night, when he and Nick went to visit Bo at the hospital, and with that realization came the peripheral concern that he might be someone from a specific, painful part of his childhood; someone with which he shared a cell in pred-therapy, and for sixteen years thought as only an imaginary friend made to cope with it all.

Logically, Gideon had nothing to worry about: if this  _ was  _ “Lenny” -- knowing his first name but not his last -- then surely their meeting would click something in their minds, rendering questions of their identities superfluous and so they could progress from there.  However, if he was simply  _ a  _ lion, coincidentally in Bunnyburrow and around Gideon’s age, then asking his name was expected in the common  _ savoir-faire _ and easily distinguished the two lions apart.  This in mind, Gideon breathed a little easier; until the nurse ducked his head to peek in through the windshield, to which Gideon’s easier breathing caught behind the tongue and his lips pulled in a forced smile.

“Don’t mind him, he’s had a rough day,” Nick dismissed when the lion gave a questioning look, “Driving calms him down, but then we got stuck, and  _ pfft _ -” noised the taller fox with an upward jerk of his thumb, “winds up like a spring.”

A furrowed brow relaxed Gideon’s face as he leaned out the window to join in on a conversation that, apparently, went on for a bit longer than he yet cared to notice, “I’m  _ plenty _ calm, thank you very much,” he insisted, and then beamed, “Name’s Gideon, Gideon Grey.  Are you from Preds’ Corner? Can’t say I recognize you.”

“Lanny Wild,” the nurse replied cordially, and then smirked at Nick, “Without the ‘e’.  And I’m from South Savannah.”

“Didn’t peg you a city boy,” chuckled Gideon in genuine relief, tossing a thumb at his cousin, “you ain’t lanky like Stretch over there.”

“Slender builds aid in slinking down alleyways, you see,” Nick gesticulated professorially, “Through crowds, gaps in a fence, under low surfaces… it’s a skulker’s life for me.”

The lion bounced under his shirt with a hearty chuckle, “Been working the docks of Lions Gate all my life and through nursing school, so ‘lanky’ wasn’t an option.  Anyway, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” he proposed, and with a pointing gesture from Nick, followed him around to the back.

The fox shrugged and sighed in defeat as he gestured to the newly-collapsed ditch and a rock on which the undercarriage bottomed out on, “I really have no idea what to make of it,” said Nick in masterful deadpan to brewing chuckles, “I tried ZooTube for a how-to video, but then I got distracted, so he took my phone away.”

“He ran out into the road in hopes you’d hit him and ‘end his misery’,” Gideon continued with a craning of his neck.

The lion laughed anew until his shoulders shook, holding up a palm for a cease-fire to catch his breath.  “Okay okay, I think I can lift the backend out of the hole, but moving it could get risky.”

“So we let it roll,” Nick reasoned with a casual air, “trade the parking brake for the foot brake and that keeps the wheels from rolling until we need them to.  Couldn’t be simpler.”

Lanny looked at the fender and jut his jaw with a speculative grunt, “That should work.”

“You get that, Bangs?”

“Loud and clear, Stretch.”

“Alright, Lanny, assume the position,” directed Nick, taking a step back so that he was in plain view of the driver’s side mirror, but could also watch the rear tires when he crouched.  The lion situated himself in the miniature sinkhole with a squat, bracing his back against the doors of the van as he hooked his paws around the trailer hitch and then a bit further back for a better grip.  At Gideon’s thumbs-up, Nick crouched and pointed a ‘go’ at the lion, “ _ Mane _ power: on.”

Lanny cycled a deep breath in preparation for a deadlift, digging heels into the ground and slowly rising up with an efforted grunt.  While the van was no bigger than a shopping cart to the lion, it was still made of steel and fiberglass, and the feat was not to throw it over his head but to tilt it high enough that it cleared the rock, but only so far that the front end didn’t point into the dirt.

“Almost,” urged Nick, glancing at the lion’s clenched jaw and flaring nostrils, and then Gideon’s darting glances as the van’s nose began to lean uncomfortably low, “Clear!”  The vehicle lurched and Lanny staggered after it, releasing the trailer hitch to windmill his arms, tail slicing the air as he caught his balance. Nick jumped up and clapped the dirt from his knees and paws, “Tickle me pink, that worked  _ loads  _ better than I thought it would.  Thanks a bunch, Lanny, if there’s anything we could do to repay you…?”

“Don’t worry about it,” assured the lion with a congenial smile, shaking feeling into his leg as he stepped out of the hole, “Happy to be of service.”

“Well, if you’re ever-”

“Nick!” yelled Gideon, the driver’s door flying open as the stouter fox stumbled out with Judy cradled to his chest, “She’s getting worse, but it’s not the same as what happened to  _ you _ !” he blurted, borderline hysterical.

In a split second of shock that what he tried so desperately to hide was then out in the open, Nick’s wide-eyed frown snapped to a determined grimace as he wheeled around to address the present nurse, “Okay, look, our friend’s been poisoned by Night Howler, ingested roughly twenty minutes ago.  Yes, we hid this fact from you. No, we tried to  _ stop _ her, but if you knew Judy Hopps you’d know that stopping her is impossible.  If you still want to yell at us for it, fine, do it while I explain everything  _ later _ , but right now, can you help her?”

Lanny’s gaze swept from the set face of one fox to the pleading dismay of the other, and then down to the seizing rabbit, eyes rolling into her skull and lip trembling to some hoarse, muted shriek.  He nodded, “Lay her back with her head elevated and keep her warm, I have something that’ll work,” the lion instructed, and strode the other way around the van to his truck.

After the foxes exchanged a glance, Nick tugged his tie loose and tossed it onto Gideon’s head (which seemed to bring him back from whatever worried daze beset him), unrolled the sleeves and tugged the buttons to shrug off his shirt without a second thought.  “Right then, lay her down,” he directed, propping himself up against the van’s tire, and it wasn’t until Gideon set her head on Nick’s bare chest and saw the flannel shirt draped over them like a blanket, did he think to question any of it. “Oof,” Nick huffed and rubbed her arms through the flannel, “She really got chilly, didn’t she.”

“Umm…” he looked away and wrung the necktie in his grip, “Should I…?”

“Don’t make it weird, Bangs; this is a survival technique to maintain core body temperature,” Nick explained, staring flatly up at his cousin, and then presented his wiggling fingers, “There, see?  Both paws are visible.”

Around came Lanny, toting a white briefcase with a red cross superimposed on a red, clawed paw symbol (such that where they intersected was the white of the case): the symbol of Preds’ Corner General Hospital.  The amiable lion from only a minute ago was replaced by a medical professional with a patient to treat and knelt quietly to Nick and Judy’s left. Either fox watched, but it didn’t take a mind reader to know that Lanny was less than thrilled about the circumstances, rather like the babysitter cleaning up a mess caused by some bad little kits.

From the case came an injector gun and into the injector gun was a small capsule loaded.  “Show me her left arm, please,” the nurse instructed, and Nick dutifully presented Judy’s requested limb.  With a gentle hiss, her eyes shot open and ears sprung to smack Nick’s face on either side of his snout (to which he bit back a grunt).  She stared into space, eyes dilated until hardly any of the violet of her irises was visible and pupils almost reflected the stars above… but then she suddenly relaxed against Nick with quiet, steady breaths.

The three males around her stayed dead quiet as the night counted the beats through chirping crickets.  Gideon looked up at Lanny, “What now?” he whispered.

Lanny leaned in to better study Judy.  “She’s in REM sleep,” he observed, touching a thumb to her eyebrow as the eyeball spun behind the lid, “It’s all up to  _ her _ now.”

Gideon frowned anew.  “What?”

“I’ll be honest; it’s my first time using this,” he said admitted, presenting the medical equipment, “which is one time more than I expected I  _ ever _ would.”

Nick raised a finger as a point of order, “I have a silly question,” which he then pointed at the injector, “What  _ is _ that?”

The empty capsule popped out with a flick of the lion’s thumb, “Night Howler antidote, courtesy of a paranoid hospital director that made them standard issue ever since the Pred-Scare.”  This invoked a grin from Nick as he utilized the back of his paw for a smug batting of Gideon’s arm. “Not to push a stereotype,” Lanny continued conversationally, “but she’s a badger, as stubborn as they come,” and added with a chuckle, “It’s sort of a running joke that she’s ‘Dr. Honey’.”

Nick raised his ears and brow, “I have another silly question,” which he then relaxed in his critical nonchalance, “is this Dr.  _ Madge _ Honey-Badger of Pred-Scare infamy?”

“Yes, that’s her;” Lanny answered patiently, “Lionheart brought her in from Preds’ Corner because she’s the leading authority on prediatrics in the greater Zootopian area.  You both probably already know about the plea bargain Lionheart got for her and his team of timber wolves, so I won’t bother going into it. Dr. Honey returned to PC General and overhauled  _ every _ thing until it was up to code, down to how long food stays in the vending machines.  Finally, she ordered the Night Howler antidote in bulk along with these injectors.”

“That plea bargain will go down in court case history as the ‘Lionheart Defense’, something I’m sure the former mayor didn’t want to be remembered for,” Nick mused and easily settled back against the tire he leaned on.

“Essy was part of that defense team, ya’know,” Gideon chimed in, “According to her,  Bagh & Little have something of a cold rivalry with the DA, so when  _ he _ went after Lionheart, Lionheart set  _ them  _ up to defend his wolves and Dr. Honey.”

“We’ll need to chat her up tonight, see if we can get any morsels-”

“Nice try, Nick,” Lanny interrupted with a cocked grin, “You promised to tell me why Judy has Night Howler in her system, and I’m holding you to it.”

“Can’t blame a fox for trying,” he grinned and spotted something on the empty capsule as it was returned to its black foam enclosure: the unmistakable logo for Hexward Pharmaceuticals.  The case closed, and Nick dove into the abridged version of his weekend, “As I’m sure you’re well aware, the TBR starts tomorrow -- it’s rather hard to miss -- and Gideon here holds the distinguished honor of its  _ first _ fox vendor.”

“I’ll be hosting a pie-eating contest, which I’m also providing whipped cream for,” Gideon added.

“We three,” Nick continued with a generic wheeling of his wrist, “have reason to believe that said whipped cream -- unbeknownst to said fox vendor -- was  _ poisoned _ with Night Howler,” and paused for dramatic effect.

Lanny sat patiently as the dramatic pause lingered, fingers drumming on his knees.  He then arched his eyebrows and tilted his head expectantly.

“Stretch is hypersensitive to it,” Gideon picked it up when Nick stared at the lion in minor disappointment; “he had a lick of it on Friday and was out like a light.  Good ol’ CPR brought him back, but he didn’t do any of the stuff Judy is doing now.”

To which Nick elaborated, “After some sleuthing, we induced that what’s in the whipped cream is a new, experimental drug meant for the streets of Zootopia, and the pie-eating contest was a cover to try it out on a slew of bunnies from varying origins.  Judy here, unsatisfied with generic danger, took it upon herself to test the drug since our only insight on its effects is me, Bangs, and another bunny that upchucked it almost immediately; all with radically different results. When she wakes up, maybe we can shed some light onto what’s so dangerous about it, because physiologically speaking, Judy is self-proclaimed as ‘remarkably average’.”

“Yeah, she’s anything  _ but  _ when it comes to what’s on the inside, though,” Gideon pointed out, smiling at the gray bunny shifting in subtle ways beneath the flannel shirt.  The smile faded when she fidgeted and stiffened, to which Nick put both arms around her once more, keeping her back to his chest.

“C’mon, Carrots,” he whispered, “You can beat this.”

Judy shivered, whimpered, trembled from the tips of her ears to the ends of her toes, and then went rigid, chest inflating and jaw slacking as if preparing to scream… yet held at an ever-rising crescendo.  Lanny leaned forward onto a knee and touched two careful fingers around an eye to pry the lid open, his other paw whipping out a penlight to shine it in and repeated on the other eye. “Okay, pupils are contracting… normalizing,” he explained, and so she exhaled in a long, relieving breath.  The lion sat back, looking intently at Judy as she drifted to her side and lounged upon Nick, even pulling the shirt closer, and nearly burying herself into his chest. Responding in kind, Nick held her gradually warming body, even allowing himself a grateful smile.

Violet eyes then fluttered open, looking to either fox in wonder and welling tears as she sprung up in Nick’s lap with Gideon leaning in excitedly.  Before any words had a chance to be shared, an arm wrapped around each of the foxes’ necks, hugging each with a strength defying her small physique. Her small physique persisted in the  _ length _ of her arms, however, and as she choked on joyful sobs, they simply choked.

“Villainous!” gasped Nick, “It makes bunnies even  _ more _ emotional!”

“Jude!” strained Gideon, “Air!”

“Oh!” started Judy, releasing the heaving foxes, her ears up and entire body twitching with excitement, “Notebook!” she managed to rattle off, clapping at her empty pockets desperately.  Quick as a whip, Judy reached into  _ Nick _ ’s pockets to pull out  _ his  _ phone and hop off his lap, still wearing the flannel shirt as though it were a cloak (and used as a facial tissue).

“Help, police!  I’ve been mugged!” Nick coughed, rubbing his throat as he looked over at his partner while the other paw braced the van so he might stagger to his feet.  He heard the telltale signs of a long, complex pin-number punched into his phone, and the accepting chime of an unlocked screen, “Whoa, hey, d’you have a warrant there, Officer Hopps, or should I tattle to the Chief about this invasion of privacy?”

“Memo… memo…” she quietly repeated, unlistening in a way Nick recognized as his partner’s hyper-focused mindset, which takes nothing less than physical displacement or extreme audial annoyance (Nick’s favorite is blowing a kazoo in her ear) to garner attention away from.  The voice-to-text microphone beeped merrily, “I don’t have a lot of time, so this needs to be quick.

“Hexward is somehow involved in the making of a drug from  _ midnicampum holicithias _ that causes severe depression.  Now, I don’t know  _ how _ or  _ why _ they’re involved,  _ yet _ , maybe they’re making it themselves or are only  _ used _ as a place to make it.  The reason  _ why _ such a drug exists is also baffling, but that’s something to look into.

“There’s a bunny, golden fur, brown eyes, mid-to-late twenties named ‘Robert Briar’, but his medical records or death certificate could go by ‘Bertie Briar’, I think he’s already dead, and whatever happened to him is directly correlated to the effects of this new Night Howler drug, beyond the depression, which I think he already had.  Make sure to look into it.” She softly groaned and tapped her foot against the ground, “It’s fading…

“Okay, Laverne Hopps, also known as ‘Lovey Hopps’, she’s my great-great-aunt from eighty or ninety years ago, famous operatic singer.  Legend goes that she sang the songs written by a rabbit infected with mange, except  _ I _ think her composer was actually a  _ fox _ , but his identity was kept hidden because back then it was  _ illegal _ for foxes to read and write, and not only that, teaching them was punishable by  _ death _ .  Now, Lovey taught a fox to read and write, maybe she taught others, too, I can’t say for sure, it’s all gotten fuzzy… okay, that should do for now,” and ended the memo.  She pivoted, brow still knitted in determination as she typed away on the phone for a moment longer, followed by the noteworthy “Sent” whistle.

Nick stood with paws on his hips and a patiently unamused expression.  “So, welcome back to the land of the living,” he sing-songed, paws folded behind his back as he leaned forward condescendingly, “That was quite a lot to discover on our little trip.  Care to elaborate?”

After a flurry of footfall, Judy was against him once more, trembling as she stood, arms around his waist and face in his chest, earning a winded grunt from the fox, “I’m sorry, Nick, I had this crazy dream and I learned  _ so _ much, but as soon as I woke up I started forgetting it.”  She stepped back and looked up to him pleadingly, even though she looked more grateful than regretful, as if the apology was  _ not  _ for swiping his phone, “I went right to the memo, didn’t even notice the wallpaper, and I sent it only to myself so you can delete it,” she explained, returning the mobile device in both paws.

Their eyes locked, but Nick couldn’t find it in him to stay mad at her.  So, as he often did when Judy was particularly expressive, he sighed a heavy sigh and accepted the phone.  “One of these days, you’ll have to teach me how you get your eyes to shimmer like that without crying,” he added with a smirk, “but for now, I’ll settle for getting my shirt back.”

“Right, right, of course,” she promptly agreed and shrugged the shirt off to return it.  While Nick was donning the flannel garb, Judy stepped past him and hesitated, looking at Gideon as he sat in the dirt, knees propped up.  He looked ready to greet her but, as before, didn’t get the chance before she covered ground and launched herself around his neck. Unlike before, he could breathe easily as Judy sat on his stomach while her careful paws examined his face, smiling brightly and nestling under his chin.

Gideon was… understandably confused and wary, since earlier that day they embraced in the same manner, and though comforting at first it -- unknowingly -- triggered a trauma that either thought was long behind them, yet dredged up when Judy discovered his muzzle scars.  The chill from when she was cradled, trembling to his chest gave way to a warmth that Gideon could only describe as… absolution. So, he sat up and allowed a smile on his face when his paws braced her back. “That Night Howler stuff must do something real crazy, huh Jude?” he suggested and continued sitting up as she slipped off to stand nearby.

“I’ll do my best to describe it, Gid, but right now all I’ve got is raw data and a few hunches,” she began, wiping her eye on a wrist before her ear sprung in the lion’s direction, to which a full pivot was afforded.  There, Lanny sat back on his ankles, paws resting on his thighs, one still holding the penlight though no longer on; he looked to her and she to him, someone she knew but did not yet meet.

“Carrots, I would like to introduce you to the esteemed Lanny Wild, whose known feats of heroism count in the twos and specify to bunnies,” Nick began with a courteous flair, correcting his borrowed shirt by rolling the sleeves to the elbow, “Esteemed Lanny Wild, this is our beloved Judy Hopps, doer of good and well-meaning meddler.”

“We saw each other at the hospital earlier,” Lanny remembered with a smile, stashing his penlight before extending a gesture of greeting.

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping Bo,” Judy replied, grasping his paw in both of hers and shaking it to the best of her ability, “So, thank you.”

“It was more of a ‘right place, right time’ kind of thing,” he assured, rubbing the back of his head with his still free paw, “Actually, in a way, I have  _ you _ to thank for trying out this Night Howler antidote-” he began, and when he tried to reference the medical case, found that Judy still had an iron lock on his tawny mitt.

“And… thank you, for  _ that _ as well,” she said, and by the tremble of her chin looked ready to burst into tears again but managed to gulp it down.  It seemed she harbored some great, yet terrible secret as she stared at the lion’s progressively bewildered face.

“Heh,” he chuckled, very lightly attempting to release her grip, “Well, if there’s anything else I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Actually…” Judy said with a slight incline of her head, unhanding his paw to touch her index fingers together, “This might sound  _ weird _ , but considering the circumstances, would you…” and with a flick of her wrists, pointed both fingers up to a sweet quirk of her eyebrows and lips, emphasizing her request with a “Hmm?”.

At this point, Nick was reaching towards Gideon to accept the offered necktie, but his attention snapped towards Judy and, instead, quickly pulled out his phone.  This confused the stouter fox, blinking at the rejection of the neckwear to watch as Nick activated the video camera app, “Oh my gosh,” he whispered and crouched down, repositioning to get a better shot, “ _ No _ one back at the precinct will believe it…

“Ladies and gentlemammals,” he whispered into the mic, “This is Nick Wilde, and what you are seeing is undoctored, irrefutable proof that Officer Judy Hopps, a.k.a. ‘Carrots’, a.k.a. ‘Officer Fluff’, is not only  _ allowing _ herself to be lifted off the ground by a larger mammal but as you can see by her readiness to be snuggled like a stuffed animal -- and even  _ hugging _ him in return! -- she does so of her own volition.  This is, without a doubt, the  _ cutest _ thing I have ever seen.  Nick Wilde: out,” and ended the recording.

“I can hear you, Slick.”

“Then you’ll know I’m changing the PIN on my phone,” Nick boasted gleefully, waving the device on his way back to Gideon to retrieve the borrowed necktie… only to find that Gideon was wearing it, and smugly so.  “Okay, Bangs, I’ll have my tie back, now.”

“Oh, this?” grinned Gideon, and earned a flat stare as he straightened the neckwear, “It’s actually mine, and you didn’t want it, so…  _ I _ ’m wearing it.  Thanks for tying it, by-the-by, always did have trouble with the knot.”

“It’s quite fetching,” commented Judy, sauntering up beside a cross-armed Nick and rubbing her chin, “He really pulls off the whole devil-may-care look, don’t you think?” she observed, as Gideon put his paws in his pockets while leaning on one leg suavely.

Nick huffed, but then shrugged with a smile, “Didn’t I say the look would catch on?”

“No, never.”

The soft rumbling of overhead laughter directed their attention upwards as Lanny was leaned over to clap dirt from his knees, “This is probably  _ the  _ most interesting night I’ve had since I got here,” he reported, “figures it’d also be the last.”

“Going back to South Savannah?” asked Gideon.

“Afraid so,” he said and stooped to pick up the case of Night Howler antidote, “I’m only in town up until the TBR, but I still have one more delivery to make before I head back.”  He then addressed Judy and pulled out his phone, “Do you know if…” and referenced his screen with a flick of his thumb, “ _ Otto Hopps  _ is still at the house?”

“Pop-Pop?  Yes, I saw him before we left,” she shrugged and ‘hmm’d with a patient smile, “It’s probably his arthritis medicine, which considering he’s turning one-hundred-two this year, it’s a wonder that’s all he’s got-” and drifted off in thought, eyes gradually brighter as she touched her chin.

“Still got a lot of life left in him,” Lanny agreed, looking at the side of van, “Before I leave, could I get your number, Gideon?” he requested hopefully, “I don’t know if you deliver to the city but I had one of your cream puffs at the hospital the other day, and that’s all it took to get me hooked.”

“Oh, well…” the stouter fox faltered, rubbing the back of his neck, “I never delivered to the  _ city  _ before,” he began, and quickly said to a crestfallen lion, “but if you’re not leavin’  _ tonight _ , I might be able to send you off with a bunch of baked goods  _ tomorrow _ ?  It’d have to be later in the day, though, since I’ll be busy all morning.”

The tawny face beamed, “That’d be great, thanks!  Could I get your number anyway? In case you  _ do _ start delivering to the city, I want to be one of your first clients.”

“ _ Umm _ , sure,” Gideon smiled uncertainly, exchanging a glance with Nick, but pulled out his phone and brought up his contact list, “And… sync,” he said, tapping a button when pointing it at Lanny’s phone.  A simple animation of pawprints paced up and down the screen, leading from one phone to the other… and to the other.

“Yoink,” smirked Nick, “And now  _ I _ have Nurse Wild’s contact info, too.  For…  _ reasons _ .”

Lanny looked down at his phone at the two new numbers before they were automatically sorted, “I mean, you could’ve  _ asked _ , I would have said ‘yes’?”

An arm slung around Gideon’s neck as Nick leaned in, “It’s more fun this way.”

“Thank you again, Lanny,” said Judy, “Also… I’m sure you can appreciate the  _ sensitivity _ of what we’re dealing with here?”

The lion looked them all over, quiet, but waved a paw in smiling goodbye, and beelined for his truck, “Sounds like a case of food poisoning to me, but it’s not so unusual for a young rabbit to eat Night Howler by accident.  G’night.” The three smaller mammals bid him fond farewells as his engine revved and drove onto the paved road once more, the red of his taillights soon specks in the distance and the roar only an echo.

Judy playfully nudged Nick’s shoulder, “You plan to have him on standby for the pie-eating contest tomorrow, don’t you?  Even though all the bad whipped cream is disposed of, save one container, you think some will slip in anyway.”

He smirked his wryest, “Let’s call it… ‘medical insurance’.  Honestly, it was a cakewalk thanks to Bangs here following my lead, I can’t have done it without him,” Nick lauded with a clap of Gideon’s back.

The momentary frown of confusion flickered to as smug a grin as he could manage on such short notice, “Well, umm… future clientele, and all that, right?  A little extra effort can go a long way, ya’know.”

“So, Carrots,” Nick continued as they began piling into the van, Gideon at the wheel and Nick riding shotgun, Judy contenting herself with the middle (and thus control of the radio), “You had that ‘eureka’ look in your eyes.”

She boasted her own smug grin with a buckling of her seatbelt and crossed one leg over the other with a tap of her chin.  “I have a century-old grandpa I can ply for information,” Judy pondered, “With any luck,  _ some  _ of it might be useful.”

“Is this about ‘Bertie Briar’?” inquired the taller fox, the van’s engine rumbling to life as they pulled onto the road and towards the sheriff’s office.

“Oh, good, I was hoping you’d recognize him.”

“Don’t get too excited, Fluffs,” Nick dismissed, “I remember him from a jump rope song, and  _ no  _ mention of Night Howler, depression, or being a bunny.”

“Let’s hear it anyway,” she grinned, “Right now, I’m gathering all the information I can; obscure, archaic, hearsay,  _ any _ thing.”

“Alright,” he shrugged and took a moment to think on it:

“Bertie Briar, what a crier

Scared to death, there’s no denier

Dropped his jaw at what he saw

How many seconds did he caw?

“Which began the counting.  Afterward, everyone involved screamed at the top of their lungs, trying to go as long as the count indicated.  Very popular back when I was young, especially by this one girl who took it upon herself to  _ always _ scream in someone’s ear,” Nick explained and then muttered under his breath, “Oh, how I  _ hated _ that Loxy…”

Judy rolled this around in her head and then spotted her phone sitting in a compartment of the dashboard.  She pulled it out and flicked it on, spotting the voicemail message from ‘Nick’, “Oh good, it went through.”

“Carrots?”

“Yes?”

“Bertie Briar?”

“An urban legend,” she said matter-of-factly, and swiped her phone open to access the text messages, “I’ll send the profile over to Benny, he should be in the precinct tomorrow.”

“What urban legend is this?” asked Gideon, although it sounded like he might’ve known more than he was letting on.

“That bunnies can be scared-to-death,” Judy continued conversationally while typing, “but as I said, an urban legend.  It’s also  _ extraordinarily _ offensive.  Maybe in the dark ages it was possible, with death lurking around every corner, but nowadays the will to live is a bit stronger, at the very least, the will to not die-” and stopped short, that ‘eureka’ look filling her eyes as he gazed over the dark road, but it was not the bright spark from before, “Unless… they suffered from clinical depression…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Psychopath, Sr." is a reference from Aladdin, from when Genie calls Jafar "Senior Psychopath".
> 
> "Loxy" is a nod to Foxy Loxy, from the remake of "Chicken Little".
> 
> Nurse Lanny Wild remained a mystery when I wrote him until I discovered his role in this all this. I don't even think he realizes his role in all this... but then... do any of them?
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	26. Chapter 26

Nick took note of the undivided attention in Judy’s eyes and face, almost recognizing it as when she conversed with someone, yet the fact that no one talked was, ironically, telling.  “If the floor is open, I would like to change the subject,” he began, and got a curious look from both violet eyes and blue (although more so the former than the latter, since the latter should stay on the road while driving), “Now that we’re finally on our way to making this Night Howler problem of ours  _ not _ our problem, I would like to address a concern that’s been gnawing at me for the last… oh… half-hour, or so.”

“Sure thing, Slick, what’s bugging you?” Judy asked.

“What were you  _ thinking _ !” he barked, leaning against his seatbelt to jab at a shrinking Judy, “You do not -- I repeat -- do  _ not _ test experimental  _ any _ thing on yourself outside of a controlled environment, which, I might add, behind a van in the driveway does  _ not _ qualify!

“Do you realize that Magnus Hopps probably wants Gideon and I  _ dead _ after that little meet-&-greet in the kitchen?  Imagine if we brought you in mere minutes after we left and you start seizing up, foaming at the mouth, but the best defense we can give is ‘Oh, she ate some bad whipped cream’.  The miracle tonight is not that a built-like-a-brick-house, wandering  _ nurse _ with Night Howler antidote tripped over us; it’s that we aren’t already  _ assassinated _ !”  Nick’s nostrils flared and chest heaved as he stared hard into Judy, who was pressed into the side of Gideon, who was trying to drive in his lane.  He sat back and crossed his arms, shooting daggers into the passing night after a few good blinks.

“Nick-” she muttered after several seconds of his seething.

“Carrots,” he cut off, head ducked and fingers bracing his temples, before he turned on her with a tear-welled glare, “don’t  _ ever  _ scare me like that again.  Maybe  _ you _ can get by in life with a complete disregard for what happens to Judy Hopps, but the rest of us?” gesturing to himself and Gideon, “Us common, ordinary folk?   _ We _ can’t… we just  _ can’t _ .

“I know,” he cut her off again with a raised palm and a deep breath; “I know you didn’t  _ mean  _ to make us worry, but it’s what we  _ do _ .  We’re your friends and we love you, so we  _ have _ to worry about you when you do dumb things, especially dumb things where we… where we can’t help.  I assume Bangs worried, at least. Bangs, were you worried?”

The driver cleared his throat loudly, a few times, “Well, maybe a little, but don’t you think you’re being a  _ bit  _ harsh-?”

“No, Gideon,” sighed Judy, clasping his arm, “Nick’s right.  What I did was incredibly shortsighted -- stupid, even -- and I should have known better.  I can’t imagine how I looked while I was under, but to bring me into the house with out-of-town relatives, especially the older ones?  It’d be such a firestorm that my parents could  _ not _ contain, and that’s not even  _ considering _ Uncle Magnus.  I should’ve waited until we got to Sheriff Longmare, or even tested it at the hospital.”  She looked at her partner’s saddened face, and quickly leaned up to kiss his cheek, “I’m sorry I made you worry so much.”

“Hey, I worried  _ too _ , do I get a kiss?” asked Gideon in the absence of any verbal response from Nick.

Judy smirked over a shoulder at him.  “You get a ‘ _ little _ ’ kiss,” she said with a pinching gesture, and then leaned the other way to peck his cheek, delighting the stouter fox all the same.  Sitting back in her seat, Judy addressed Nick once more, “So… are we good?”

Nick exhaled and slumped against the passenger door, propping his head up on an elbow, “I don’t know how you bunnies get so emotional so often because that whole tirade was  _ exhausting _ .  But yeah, we’re good,” he assured and gave her a thumbs-up, “I probably should’ve griped more before you ate the whipped cream, though, so that’s on me.”

“I guess… I guess I wanted to prove that I was in this, too,” Judy thought aloud, wringing her palms the slightest bit.

“There was  _ never _ a doubt about that, Carrots.”

“To myself, I mean.  You, Gid, and Bo all ate the whipped cream, which makes  _ me _ the only one who didn’t that also knows about the Night Howler drug.  And then I saw that look in your eyes, Nick, that scared, hurt look when you explained ‘ka-poof!’.  So, I put some pelt in the game the best way I could think of… and now someone we’ve only known  _ of _ for half-an-evening is also in on it; I guess we’ll see what comes of that.”

Gideon grunted quietly, “This is really careening, isn’t it?  That makes… five mammals who know about some big scheme to test a drug on- ya’know, I can’t hear it out loud, again, it gets more ridiculous each time.  So Judy,” he said, “what all is this stuff supposed to do? You said something about causing depression and then got all quiet about bunnies being scared-to-death and the death shriek-” but cleared his throat loudly once more.

“ _ I _ never mentioned the ‘death shriek’,” Judy calmly responded.

“Bangs, the ‘death shriek’ isn’t  _ real _ ,” Nick patiently explained, and then addressed the back of Judy’s head, “We saw it in a movie last night-” but ceased at her raised finger.

“Yeah, typical city fox thing to say, but you live out here and hear the stories about it.  ‘The Curse of the Pharabbit’? ‘The Wail of the Bunshee’? You wanna scare a young pred, that’s how you do it,” he shivered, fingers gripping the wheel, “Don’t matter if it’s real or not, or if it stopped being real, it’s still scary.”

Nick quirked a cynic’s brow, “What say you, resident rabbit?” he queried, “You’re accustomed to folklore both quaint and steadfast, so perhaps you can shed some light on a so-called ‘shriek’ that explodes the brains of predators?”

“It makes you go insane, Stretch, and we have neighbors that’ll vouch for it because it happened to one of theirs.  We’ll ask ‘em when we get to my house since some of them didn’t go on that cruise.”

“Is this the wolf family I saw with  _ ravens _ ?”

“The ravens are their  _ pets _ , I’ll have you know, but yes, that’s them.”

“ _ You _ ask them, I’m already involved with a wolf pack at work and I know about the dynamics that come with it, and quite frankly, I’m reaching capacity for backwater traditions with screaming bunnies and wolves with ravens.”

“And here I thought you were  _ sly _ ,” scoffed Gideon, “Tell ‘em, Jude, the death-shriek isn’t jus’ some made-up thing,” he insisted though not as a boast, but as one would insist that there was, indeed, a monster in the closet.

Judy quietly sank back in her seat, ears forward as she wove her fingers, indexes pointed whereupon her nose touched, and with each passing instance the tension tightened before she answered. “There is  _ some  _ merit-” and, as she knew would happen, earned revulsion of significant difference from either fox.

“So it  _ is _ true!”

“I demand sources.”

“I knew it, all this time, it’s been true!”

“If we weren’t barreling down a highway in the middle of nowhere…”

“Yeah?  Well, tuck and roll, Stretch,” and then unlocked the doors.

“I’ve survived worse,” and made to unbuckle his seatbelt.

Judy pointed to them both with an inflecting “Shush,” though her head stayed down, thus earning their compliance (and a re-locking of the doors), “It is and has been a topic of controversy amongst rabbits, the existence of the death-shriek.  Evolutionarily speaking, something directly associated with one’s own death doesn’t last long enough to procreate but can paradoxically  _ thrive  _ in a modern age where death is less prevalent.  That said, if there were a gray area -- a ‘sweet spot’ if you will -- between danger and safety, say, if ancient bunnies boasted the highest population amongst all mammals, even rodents, there might be a use for a ‘death shriek’.”

Nick’s claws drummed slowly on the door’s armrest, “When and where, Professor Hopps, did you study all of this specific information?”

“ BU ,” she promptly smirked, fingers steepled, “The library there is  _ quite  _ extensive.”

“I  _ see _ .  So what use, even in large populations,  _ is  _ there for a terminal evolutionary trait?”

She sat up when the position got too uncomfortable and rolled her shoulders.  “Of all the back-and-forth on it, one of the best arguments I could find is that it acted as a warning system for ancient bunnies and a distraction for hunting predators.  Before we were agriculturists, bunnies foraged for food, a risky endeavor each and every day. Interestingly, it was the  _ foragers _ that were the stronger and braver of the bunnies, while the lookouts were like canaries in a coal mine, giving up their own lives to alert the other bunnies while also disorienting their attackers.  It’s speculated that doing this spared them a gruesome death and allowed the warren to survive as a whole.”

“But?” prompted Nick.

“ _ But _ ,” agreed Judy, “according to modern medical science, while sudden cardiac arrest from fear is  _ possible _ , it is by no means  _ probable _ outside of old age, a weak heart, or fatal illness, and of the few documented cases proving otherwise I’ve found there’s  _ no  _ mention of the death-shriek.  So, between classes, I gathered up all the information I could find from wherever I could find it, doing the best I could to match consistencies and patterns, no matter how outlandish it seemed.”

“And?” prompted Gideon.

“ _ And _ ,” admitted Judy, “the strongest thread of evidence pointed to what I already suspected: the death-shriek happens almost exclusively with rabbits; except it’s not part of  _ any _ rabbit lore, only in the lore of  _ other _ mammals’ interactions with rabbits.  While I was under the effect of the Night Howler, I experienced three things that I don’t think I’ll ever forget: first, crippling depression, most likely held over from when I blamed myself for the Pred-Scare; second, all-consuming, irrational, mortal  _ terror _ , which was only at the very end of the dream; and third, a sensation in my throat and chest that felt  _ like  _ a scream,” she listed academically.

“Suggestive.  I don’t suppose all of this was labeled for your convenience?” asked Nick.

Judy smiled and shrugged, “It took some piecing together.  I only have vague feelings from the dream right now, but from what I can remember figuring out, the drug is designed to sink bunnies into a pit of despair, and it wasn’t until the connection was made to Bertie Briar did I realize  _ why _ ,” she said, and pulled up a search engine, “As I said, he’s part of an urban legend in the rabbit community, which I suppose spans both city and farm,” and nodded to Nick, “However, he also has use as a cautionary tale.”

“What’s he caution?” asked Gideon.

“That trying could lead to almost certain death.”

“Yes, these are the things we should teach our young,” stated Nick.

“I knew of him as ‘Briar the Trier’ as a kid, and best I can figure, he’s a fairly recent addition to the bunny storybook.  For the record,  _ my _ parents  _ never _ read us Briar the Trier (I heard about it from other kids) and they were always supportive of trying -- initially, anyway, I think there were a few things my older siblings did to make them a little… try-shy.  I probably stumbled over ‘Bertie Briar’ sometime during my extracurricular research, but with only bedtime stories to go on, and since the jump rope song you talked about never came around to Bunnyburrow, I didn’t have a lot of other data-points to connect him to.”

The van slowed, to the officers’ attention, and both looked at a ghastly Gideon.  “Hey Jude,” he muttered and gulped, “does that Night Howler stuff cause the death-shriek?”

“Well…” Judy said carefully, looking at the speedometer and then down to the pedals as they coasted, “In a roundabout way, it  _ could _ .”  The van began to sputter, which was the only thing that reached Gideon to signal him to shift from fifth gear into neutral and lean into the brake, thusly lurching the van forward.  After bracing the dashboard in the sudden stop, Judy engaged the parking brake as Nick clicked the hazard lights since they were still in the middle of the road. “Gid?” she asked soothingly, undoing her seatbelt and touching his arm.

“I almost… tomorrow… bunnies… screamed to death…” he began to heave, and certainly, the pelt of his paws stretched tight over his knuckles.  Judy gestured to Nick, but he was already unbuckled and leaping out the passenger door, scurrying around the front to the driver’s side. Gideon continued his hollow affirmations, chuckling in unnerving ways as his paws were unlocked from the steering wheel with soft clicks of his claws.  He did loosen, though, and accepted an ushering from either side to the middle seat with Nick slipping into his place. “I almost died,” Gideon repeated in a whimper, a glazed, distant look in his eyes as he raked through the fur on his arms, “at the pie eating contest tomorrow, all those bunnies, they’d have screamed me to death.  I almost… I almost  _ died _ , Jude… tomorrow, with all those bunnies, they’d have screamed to death, and I almost…”

“There there, Gid, we won’t let that happen,” cooed Judy, and exchanged a worried frown with her partner before she spoke in a sweet tone, “Isn’t that right, Nick?”

“Absolutely correct, Judy, we’ve got the  _ last _ of the Night Howler stuff in this van, and we’re on our way to Sheriff Longmare’s  _ right now _ ,” he explained in a gentle, paternal voice, the same he used in that elephantine ice cream parlor where he and Judy first met, “Whereat it’ll be sealed up safe and sound in the evidence locker, we’ll get the investigation started, and then we’ll head home; how’s that sound?”  It seemed to have a (gradually) calming effect on the stouter fox when paired with the rabbit bracing his elbow and knuckle, and though she tried to disengage Gideon’s fingers from his own pelt, Judy found his grip a tad surer than she dared apply force on.

The bunny looked on with mounting concern at those vacant, silvery-blue eyes, still staring out into the night with flaring nostrils and quivering pupils, lips trembling with unintelligent phrases that she could certainly hear but not distinguish -- at least, she could distinguish no  _ words _ .  What she  _ could  _ distinguish was that raw emotion so often mitigated by a conscious, logical mind was freed by compounding brushes with undeniable reminders of mortality.  There were times, it seemed, in which Judy overlooked that those closest to her were not steeled as she was, and perhaps needed a guiding touch through their troubles.  In Gideon’s case, it was emphasized by that emotion she heard in his voice as children, that pleading call to “Help me” which in the recent year since he baked with the Hopps Farm produce grew into an aid for others, then returned to its desperate cry.  Judy, in a whispering flash of inspiration, leaned up quicker than the blink of an eye to kiss the side of his snout, right behind the nose, and then sat back to watch.

Gideon’s ears flicked back and forth as if calibrating, for an instant flaring bright red and then fading to a healthy pink inside the darker fur.  His eyes blinked and pupils dilated to their normal diameter, returning to the inside of the van. The clenching jaw relaxed like a wave of relief that spread from the epicenter right behind his nose on the right side and he almost melted into the seat as his claws unlocked from his arms.  Letting out a low, long breath through puckered lips, he rested his paws on his thighs and leaned back into the cushion. “I dunno, guys,” he said in his normal voice, lifting a heavy mitt of a paw only to let it drop back onto denim, “I don’t think I got much more steel left in me. I tell you h’wat, though, I’ll be glad when this stuff is good and gone,” and tossed a thumb over his shoulder with the other paw, which, too, fell heavily back into his lap.

As the nervous wreck visibly relaxed and folded his paws on his stomach, looking out through the windshield, not at the empty space between but to the stars beyond, Judy leaned forward to give Nick a discreet thumbs-up and pleased smile.  Nick whispered “Cute” so low he knew only she could hear it and grinned a sucrose grin. Judy glowered.

“So, fun fact,” Nick initiated after some seconds of silence, “Hexward makes the Night Howler antidote.”

“They do?” asked Gideon, though he didn’t seem  _ very _ surprised.

“They  _ do _ ,” confirmed Nick, “Our timely lifesaver, Nurse Wild, had a case of it and clear as day was the Hexward logo on one of the capsules.”

“I knew about Hexward and the antidote,” Judy revealed, leaning around Gideon’s profile to discuss the observation, “but it was already studied on pollen addicts and -- with seventy-two percent conclusiveness -- found that while it certainly cleans the system of its effects, it makes for a  _ worse _ withdrawal, yet, oddly enough, I’m not suffering  _ any _ thing of the sort.”

Nick was thoughtful a moment, “Carrots, you know I have a complicated relationship with admitting when I’m wrong, but what if I’m wrong about the whipped cream, and it’s not pollen,  _ per se _ ?”

Gideon’s eyes lit up, “Bo said yesterday that how you’d get Night Howler into the whipped cream was with a honey, didn’t he?”

“When was  _ this _ ?” asked Judy with sprung ears.

“Before meeting you at the bakery; we inducted Punch into the company of foxes,” Nick explained and then smirked, “I’d say he earned those glow-in-the-dark sunglasses.”

“Night howler  _ honey _ , made from the nectar of  _ midnicampum holicithias _ …” she wondered, “I never thought of it before, and while it’s certainly  _ possible  _ to do so would require a way to negate the effect of the pollen on the bees.”

“Tha’s what Bo said,” remarked Gideon, “that you’d need a synthetic hive with synthetic bees to make the honey.”

“A synthetic hive still has natural bees in it, Gid,” she corrected, “but… there is a way to make honey with _ out _ bees.  Collect the nectar from the flowers; add the enzyme to break down the sucrose, dry it out to the desired viscosity, and  _ boom _ , honey.  Considering that apiarists get all that simply by keeping bees, I can’t imagine it’s very cost efficient to synthesize it in the laboratory, not when only a quarter of the nectar is viable honey.”

“What do they  _ teach _ as this university of yours?”

She chortled and flicked her wrist dismissively, “Don’t be silly, beekeeping sciences are practiced more by hares than rabbits, and to a lesser extent, Deerbrooke more than Bunnyburrow.  In fact, a lot of Bunnyburrow’s honey comes from the hares of the hills on the outskirts of Horseshire.” She grabbed loosely at the air in front of her, “If this is Bunnyburrow…” and drew a large oval, “and this is Horseshire, then where I’m talking takes up this top edge,” and swept wide over where she drew the oval, “It’s locally known as either the ‘Honeyhills’ or ‘Hares’ Bluff’, but as far as the post office is concerned, it’s still part of Bunnyburrow.”

Gideon drew a triangle over where Judy drew the oval, but not where she swept for the hills.  “Preds’ Corner would be over  _ here _ , somewhere,” he said, then closed a circle with his thumb and fingers a bit further out, “which is some of the closest parts of Bunnyburrow to the Knottedwood.”

“Not sure if you two fully grasp the concept of driving and keeping one’s eyes to the road, but I didn’t catch  _ any  _ of that visualization,” Nick critiqued, “I tell you what, though, the next time we have access to a bird’s eye view -- maybe with some kind of  _ accurate  _ cartographic technology -- I’d be more than happy to pay attention to what you have to share on the subject of boondocks geography.

“More to the point,” he continued, “I’m spotting some of my own connections about a specific bunny, who coincidentally  _ also _ became a household name throughout Zootopia three decades ago or thereabouts: Felix Oswald Lapis.”

“The CEO of Hexward?” Judy began, first in incredulity, and then in curiosity, “He did come from Deerbrooke (the connection  _ you  _ made, no doubt) so he  _ might _ have an apiary background…  I don’t know enough about him to make an objective judgment, having only met him when he congratulated me on becoming the first bunny cop.  He’s the biggest philotherian in the city, respected across not only species but classes, as well. To his credit,  Furbes magazine named Hexward Pharmaceuticals one of ‘Zootopia’s Most Ethical Companies’  _ several _ years running.”

“But?” prompted Nick.

“ _ But _ ,” she agreed, however reluctantly, “I can’t deny that the evidence points in his direction.”

“Perhaps we should start our own, independent investigation into Saint Felix,” the taller fox suggested.

Judy gave this a second of thought, “No, no need,” she mused, and crossed one leg over the other, paws hooked around a knee, “You know how I feel about ‘independent investigations’, especially ones outside of the precinct’s official framework.”

“They’re your hobby,” her partner pointed out.

“ _ Tsktsk _ , Slick, I thought you knew me better than  _ that _ ,” the rabbit teased, “I follow my gut when it comes to matters like this.  Now, I know what you’re going to say about him being a prominent bunny and me being  naïve , so I’ll cut you off at the pass here and now: the reason we work so well together as partners is because we can see both sides on the same subject without going at each other’s throats, which allows us to come to an objective answer based on the available evidence.”

Nick whispered to Gideon, “That’s bunny-talk for ‘You’re one-hundred percent right, Nick, but I wanted to make chief of police before taking on big pharma’.”

“It  _ means _ that starting an independent investigation would be jumping the gun when an  _ official _ investigation -- that we can  _ easily _ be a part of, mind you -- not only has a higher chance of success but would avoid all the hassle of Chief Bogo’s rant about how much paperwork our dragon-slaying will make for him.”

“Well,  _ shoot _ ,” Gideon chuckled as he turned to Nick, “that was the foxiest argument I ever heard from a bunny.  There’s lots of you rubbin’ off on her, huh?”

“It comes at a price, my friend,” he sighed, dramatically so, and smacked his lips, “I can still taste that emotional outburst from earlier.”

“Oh, Slick,” she scoffed with an almost audible roll of her eyes, “Starting an investigation of  _ any _ kind requires information, and  _ you _ , Mr. I-Know-Everybody, want to start digging into someone  _ you _ think is named ‘Felix’.”

The silence between the three of them was nigh palpable, its increasing weight grew Judy’s smugness, and to a much more gradual degree, Gideon’s utter amusement.  Nick groaned in long agony, keeping one grip on the steering wheel as the other covered half of his face, fingers draped over his snout in a defeated groan, “‘Felix’ is a  _ title _ ,” and sighed to ask, returning his paws to 10-&-2 on the wheel, “Where’s it from?”

Judy examined her fingers and the small claws atop each before she answered, “House of Blessings.  Thought  _ you  _ would’ve known that.”

“I think that’d be what Stretch here calls ‘penthouse-level info’,” Gideon reasoned, amused smirk unfading.

“It’s probably on Woolipedia,” Nick admitted, glancing at his partner, “Bunnies, using first names as titles, I should’ve  _ known _ .  So tell me, Carrots, does this canonize the good Felix as Saint  _ Oswald _ , and put him above reproach, or is he as fallible as the rest of us mere mortals?”

She shrugged the smug and returned to a semi-professional demeanor, “ _ No _ one is above reproach, but for the time being we’ll say that Felix Lapis has a lot of credit to his name, thus deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

“So, by your logic, I should not harbor even a  _ shadow _ of a doubt going into this investigation,” he smirked.

“And that’s why we work so well together.”

Gideon remained quiet, trying his hardest not to involve himself in brewing police business -- any more than he already was, at least.  He was curious about something, though, and turned to address Judy when Nick barked out, “Wait,” and stared at the mile-count sign for “Bunnyburrow”, “Horseshire”, and “Preds’ Corner” as they passed the turn-off to the hospital, “Pred’s Corner is a  _ plural _ possessive?  All this time I thought it was  _ singular _ possessive,” and sat back in his seat in a momentary daze, “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

And with that, Gideon’s thought process whisked away as he and Judy exchanged a glance, “Be-… cause they sound the same?” he suggested with a hidden chuckle.

“‘Preds’ Corner’... ‘Pred’s Corner’...” Nick enunciated, “It’s a good thing I never wrote it down, that could have been embarrassing.”

“There are more pressing matters than apostrophe placement,” Judy pointed out, even though she, too, could not help but choke back a snicker, “Jaywalkers, to name one.”

“Oh!” said the stouter fox.

“Bangs has a cause to fight for: jaywalkers!” Nick swooped in.

“N-no,” and turned back to Judy, “Okay, so,  _ how _ does the Night Howler cause the, umm…” and with a grand twiddling of his fingers and tripping over his words, “Ya’know, the  _ thing _ , the scream-to-death, how’s it ‘roundabout’ do it?”

Judy didn’t bother correcting him since she certainly knew what he was trying to say and speaking about it so soon after nearly breaking down about its specific possibility was, to her, commendable.  “I will begin by saying that there is  _ no _ precedence for the death-shriek; it is mired in myth and hearsay.  That said,  _ my  _ experience with it is, unfortunately, compromised by the fact that it’s all part of a waking dream.  However, I can say with some certainty -- based mostly on intuition -- that while a physically healthy individual  _ can _ be scared-to-death, the death-shriek comes not from a willingness to  _ die _ but an unwillingness to live.”

“In modern terms, clinically depressed,” Nick added, “which this Night Howler drug either induces or magnifies.”

“I’m thinking the latter,” she postulated, “Long-term depression isn’t simply feeling sad or solely a chemical imbalance -- those things are part of it yes -- but just as important is someone’s life experience, even a cascade of things that makes it harder to live with oneself.  Now, I’m going to step into some crazy territory, but with everything that’s happened this weekend-”

“We’re foxes, Jude, ‘crazy’ is what we do,” said Gideon.

She blinked, and flashed a smile at the thought of his statement, “Alrighty, here goes: the attendees of the pie-eating contest tomorrow  _ won’t _ be random, I think they might be bunnies suffering from depression.”

“If that’s the case,” Nick pondered, “then they were either invited or coerced into attending.”

“Maybe they were promised a cure for their depression, or even an illness they might have?” suggested Judy.

“Too obvious and not coercive enough,” he answered, “It’d need to be something more than, ‘Come out to the country for fresh air and a miracle cure; stuff your face with pies, you’ll feel loads better!’.  If we  _ are  _ dealing with the depressed, it’ll need to be something that’s immediate; ‘Yes, this solves my problem’ kind of deal.”

“On that note, the depression would need to be real enough to affect them, but not so crippling that those bunnies can’t hop a train and head out to the TBR, even willing to go through the expense and hassle to do so.”

“What if they were paid to go?” suggested Gideon, “All expenses, like the Caribouan Cruise?”

“Even then,” replied Nick, “Free trips and grand prizes all go into their junk mail folder or the trash bin, it’d be another offer amongst dozens that they’d ignore.”

“Unless they  _ couldn’t _ ignore it,” Judy said with a wag of her finger, “Finding depressed bunnies shouldn’t be  _ too _ difficult if someone has enough resources, especially if they’re on some kind of medication for it; from there it’d be easy pickings.”

Nick mulled it over, “ Hexward sounds more and more culpable, but something bugs me about it.  If a bunch of bunnies keel over from a single event, any rookie cop with half-a-brain could find out that they’re taking the same medication from the same drug company.  There are breadcrumbs  _ all _ over the place here.”

“And I know how you feel about ‘bread crumbs’,” she recalled.

“What’s so bad about breadcrumbs?” asked a confused Gideon.

“Oh, he means ‘clues’, not literal bread crumbs.”

“I  _ know _ he means ‘clues’, Jude, but why’s it so bad that they’re ‘all over the place’?  How else are you gonna solve a mystery without clues?”

“In my youth, I made the mistake of assuming that I was the smartest mammal in the room at all times,” Nick extrapolated, “This worked fine until it didn’t and it expl-…” he paused and flared his nostrils, “it  _ exploded _ in my face with a lot of collateral damage.  Nowadays, I operate under the assumption that everyone is  _ not _ a moron -- I’m often proven wrong in that regard, but in  _ this _ set of circumstances, I refuse to believe the mastermind behind all this would allow such an easy thread to hang in the wind.”

Judy rubbed her chin, “It sounds to me like Felix Lapis is moving down on your list of prime suspects.”

“He’s still sitting pretty in slot number two,” Nick assured with a waggling pair of fingers, and to his partner’s querying eyes, “Magnus Hopps holds claim as my prime suspect.  To start, I remember hearing that you can determine a parent’s character by how their children behave; exhibit ‘A’: Grav and the prosecution rests; it certainly doesn’t help that  _ he  _ is directly involved with this weekend’s entertainment.  This is in contrast with Oswald Lapis, to whom a powerful, governing body of rabbits bestowed what I can only describe as the ‘Bunny of the Century’ award.  Of these powerful, influential mammals, it doesn’t take a master detective to pick out the more willing to sacrifice bunny lives for some kind of gain.”

“So… we have the CEO of Zootopia’s biggest drug company,” Gideon recalled, counting off on a finger, “And the CEO of… I guess the biggest food processor in Zootopia?”

“ Hopps Farm Fresh is definitely in the running,” reported Judy, “they pull from farms all over the Tri-Burrows.”

“So… they both have a lot of money to throw around?” Gideon continued, “Mr. Lapis -- I mean --  _ Felix _ Lapis already sent all of Preds’ Corner on that cruise, maybe he could cover food and lodging for a bunch of depressed bunnies for a weekend?”

“Something still doesn’t seem right about that,” Nick grumped, “All the bunnies that ever were will be in Bunnyburrow for the next week or so, but that doesn’t mean they  _ all  _ want to go.  Carrots, would it be safe to assume that there are bunnies, maybe depressed ones in the city, which might stay home rather than go through the effort of heading out to the country?”

“A safe assumption, yes,” she affirmed, “I say it’s a reunion for bunnies everywhere, but even at a ninety-nine percent rate of attendance, that’s still  _ thousands _ of absent bunnies.  What’s on your mind?”

Nick pointed to Gideon, “Something Bangs here mentioned.  Finance is one of the more common reasons for depression, right?  Bills piling up, rent’s due, tax collectors breaking down your door, charities calling during dinner to ask if you’ll continue your support.  But what if,” he continued, that fiery, crazy look in his eyes that Judy always enjoyed seeing when his mind worked its magic, “what  _ if _ something comes along, an anonymous text or email with a specific dollar amount and instructions: go to the TBR, find the yellow-striped tent, have yourself a slice of pie and all your money troubles go away; ‘We’ll be watching’.”

Gideon rubbed his arms, “Ooh, that gave me goose pimples…”

“Something like this will take a lot of capital to pull off, wouldn’t it?” he pressed, “And while I’m sure Saint Oswald might have it handy, he  _ did _ just send an entire town on vacation, and if Hexward is as straight as you say it is (which I am willing to trust you on, Carrots), then another expense of that magnitude couldn’t go unnoticed.  So, let’s continue with Magnus Hopps: he could also have the capital to pay off outstanding debts, even if all he did was forward half of what they owed to further entice his victims. I’m sure the poor, unfortunate souls would bend over backward to get that easy money.”

“And something like ‘Go to the TBR’ is just inane yet simple enough that it wouldn’t be too suspicious to someone who really needs the cash,” Judy added, “Going out on a limb here, but they might assume it’s connected with a reality show or something.  And let’s say  _ half _ of them get wise to easy money or aren’t desperate enough to make the trip (which might also be paid for), talking sheer statistics, there should be enough depressed bunnies not only in the Tri-Burrows but all of Zootopia that there’s  _ plenty  _ of test subjects for the Night Howler drug, even if it’s only a half-dozen.”

Gideon’s arms were crossed and jaw jut forward, softly humming, “All those breadcrumbs… since Magnus has a spotless record like you say, Jude, I bet he would use Hexward to take the fall, wouldn’t he?”

“Dang it, Carrots, I don’t have  _ any _ ‘Junior Detective’ stickers on me,” Nick pouted, to which he deserved a  _ very _ mature raspberry from his cousin, “It actually brings me to my final point: that list of depressed bunnies could very well be used to find potential candidates for this field test of a new drug, whether for the street or the pharmacy.”

“What’re you getting at, Slick?”

He scoffed and smirked, “So impatient, but how about I say this: big fish in small ponds can’t help but rub elbows, so all  _ we _ need to do is find a connection between Magnus Hopps and Oswald Lapis.  Whether the latter is partner or puppet is yet to be determined but if there  _ is _ a strong enough thread-”

“Aunt Clea,” Judy blurted out, earning both foxes’ attention (more so her fellow passenger than the driver, even if he  _ did  _ spare furtive glances).

“What about her?” asked Gideon.

“She was a Lapis if memory serves… pretty sure she’s one of Felix Oswald’s many younger sisters.  It’s nothing strange that a Lapis and a Hopps mated but something so high profile-”

Gideon turned fully on the adjacent rabbit with a quirk of his brow, “That would make your Uncle Magnus a brother-in-law of Hexward’s CEO,” he said, though made no effort to obscure the accusatory tone in his voice, “I’d say that’s a pretty  _ huge _ thread, Jude, I’d even wager it’s  _ honkin’ _ huge.”

Judy tossed a thumb over her shoulder, “Listen, if you’ve got a week we can head back to my place and I’ll summarize the Hopps family tree for you, and maybe in a month we can map out what sort of connections they all could have in the modern day-”

“ _ Pass _ .”

“She was also a psychiatrist… or a psychologist, I don’t remember too much about her, city-bunny that she is… Nick?”

Nick’s sly grin was one she saw on either he or Esther as if they stood untouched amidst a tempest; it filled Judy with fear and awe whenever she witnessed it.  “There was a name I heard whispered in dark alleys of the Conifer District back when I was but a kit. The adults and wayward youths said it in hushed tones and my own parents told me that it was not a name to say out loud, too easily drawing unwanted questions as to how  _ you _ came to hear it.  Now, it may simply be a coincidence but I do not idly ignore the weaves of a spider’s web,” he continued, voice lowered as he addressed the rapt attention of his passengers, “A name I  _ never  _ thought I would need to know until tonight, when I realized it coincides with the urban legend of Bertie Briar if only by a difference in time of a few months: Dr. Cleopatra Lapis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Furbes" is the Zootopian variation of "Forbes".
> 
> And here we have the last chapter of Trustworthy with lots found out, figured out, and still plenty more to come. Join me, if you will, for "Brave".
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Author's Note:**

> Writing has been a fun experience for me. This particular bit of literature was intended to not conflict with the movie's canon as is in my ability to do so, thus, all of the blank spaces in between is where the creativity flows. Some of the references (Jumbeaux ice cream joint, for example) should be familiar to you if you saw the movie so I won't detail them until later chapters.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing! I look forward to our continued adventure~


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